If I Could Just Know What You Wanted
by dropout-ninja
Summary: Knock Out wanted to give his old partner another chance. If only he felt (he first came to realize when he was already looking over Autobot Outpost Omega One and the glares of its inhabitants) more confident that this was what Breakdown would have wanted. AU after S2 Episode: Crossfire. Or: it's all Brainstorm's fault for encouraging this, but what else is new?
1. Make It Right

Transformers and its characters do not belong to me. All rights go to their respective owners.

_AN- This first chapter makes references to RID 2015 (in regards to Knock Out seeming to appear briefly on a list of 'wanted' Autobots) and the IDW series MTMTE_  
_All chapters after this occur during TF:Prime._  
_Warnings: relatively light, although subject to change. The occasional language (human and Cybertronian), mentions of high grade, canon typical violence. Knock Out is not a good person (read: he's a [at times dangerous and at times emotionally hurtful] narcissist) in many respects but he is trying here._  
_There is no update schedule planned but this shouldn't drag any longer than 2021._  
_Un'beta'd, so if you noticed any grammar/spelling errors, please point them out so I can correct them :)_  
_I'm also, at this point in time, unsure whether this will end up being Breakdown/Knock Out or whether there's too much baggage there._  
_That said, please enjoy the show!_

* * *

It was shocking how slow the world had spun out of control. Each new movement, each addition to the council, each new law; everything had happened at a quietly glacial speed and that, in turn, had made the end of the world shoot out at him with speed he was powerless to stop.

But he was being dramatic.

The world hadn't ended. There was no great civil war. Cybertron and Earth, the two planets he was most attached to, both lived on.

It was such a shame Knock Out couldn't go to either.

* * *

The scientist had been found shortly after his exile. News that a warrant had gone out after him had prompted Knock Out to abandon everything he had built on Cybertron.

It made him really miss the days following the war's end. When it was just a few Cybertronians that wandered this planet. When medics were in such high demand that Knock Out had been almost seamlessly integrated with the Prime-less 'Team Prime'. When he'd come to realize so much about not just others, but himself.

Those were the days.

Back when Cybertron was wild and unpopulated.

It hadn't been many solar cycles since then. But Knock Out hadn't seen those people he'd started to call his 'friends'.

Which really hurt because it was all their fault. Oh, he was pouting again. Did it matter?

Anyway, it was their fault. They'd slowly shown him a side of mechs that Knock Out simply hadn't noticed before. They'd forced him to try his best at seeing others for _who they were_ instead of _what he wanted them to be._

There was one big regret all this brought up.

Really, there should have been thousands. Right? Butchering the human that wore Breakdown's body. Staying with the decepticons instead of going neutral long before. Vorns of murder and messy operations completed with glee.

The autobots didn't like all that. So he shouldn't either, right? If he was going to be hunted down by Cybertron's law for becoming an autobot, he should accept that role whole heartedly, shouldn't he?

But the regrets he was supposed to have as a good autobot didn't come, the occasional pin prick of discomfort aside.

His regret was something different.

It had nothing to do with torture or murder or petty sabotage. He had been nothing but pampering to the mech. Showered him in the best of gifts and care.

And never, in all of that, had he ever taken notice if Breakdown liked the gifts or care.

Arcee had been the first one he'd talked to about the uncomfortably growing regret. It developed during his time with the autobots from Earth. To be safe, one must become a part of your surroundings, after all. Knock Out valued his plating very, very much. He had to keep it safe.

He had to become _one of them._

So he watched their interactions and picked up on how to seamlessly enter them. He watched them interact with their fleshy friends and learned how to do the same without any hint of outward disgust.

He watched them as they _cared_ and sacrificed their own wishes for the dreams of another and operated with every semblance of a 'family' and...and it opened a door. One that made living far more uncomfortable.

Knock Out didn't naturally care about others unless it was how those others related to him. He surrounded himself with mechs that would always be second to him and gave him the appraise he craved to live.

Breakdown had been one of those mechs. He had been _the_ mech. Everyone around them thought they were close. Slag it, Knock Out had thought they were close. It was only after the war ended that he truly discovered what close meant.

He'd spent vorns alongside his nurse, living through misadventures and buffing sessions, laughs and breakdowns, survival and pampering.

But he hadn't ever _heard_ Breakdown. What had gone through his processor after the first M.E.C.H. incident? What would he have thought of Knock Out defecting at the end of the war? What would he himself have done?

It really, really irked him that he didn't know what any of Breakdown's answers would have been.

* * *

There was a sense of irony to the two of them. Knock Out had been the decepticon C.M.O. at the end of the war and then had defected. When push came to shove, he hadn't become neutral. He'd gone for the whole thing; the badge, the name, even the warrant from an anti-Autobot council. He was a decepticon traitor. Brainstorm had spent the war as an Autobot scientist that wore the badge of the decepticon's under his mask. He was an autobot traitor. Sure, he didn't really have any loyalty to the team he played a double agent for but that hardly mattered to either side.

Two traitors, the both of them. And the current Cybertron did not want either running around free.

Neither exactly wanted to go to a boring prison cell either.

So many cycles had been spent with Knock Out wishing he could make contact with one of the old members of 'Team Prime'; wishing he could see one or all of them again. Just a call, even. Just a notice that they hadn't given up. That they weren't taking this corrupt occupation sitting down.

Now he spent his cycles with a different wish:

_I hope this works._

It was just his luck he'd landed a place to stay atop this small moon with a crazy scientist. Or 'brilliant' if it was Brainstorm describing himself. Whether it was insanity or actual brilliance, the point was that he was willing to try just about anything.

And so when Knock Out explained his desire one megacycle, the other had actually decided to, well, get to work on it.

Until one cycle, the medic was standing before a medbay berth acquitted with equipment he didn't recognize while the short seeker waited for his signal.

* * *

"It can only send your consciousness back," Brainstorm moved around the berth to look straight up at him. Servos were planted cockily on hips and his mask was shut to expression. "Or rather, clone it and send that copy back right into the body of the timeline this will be creating. The 'you' that will get up from that table will have no way of knowing if your double succeeded or not. You won't get to see the world that copy makes for himself."

Knock Out's fingers gritted tighter.

"So we've established. I don't care. All I want is to give him this chance at life," he shot back.

Which wasn't fully true.

There were plenty of selfish motivations at play. Knock Out wanted to relieve his curiosity about all the 'what's' he wanted to know about Breakdown. He wanted to relieve his own dull grief and give himself another chance with the blue mech.

But he did want to do this for Breakdown himself. It wasn't an innate want, but it was a decision he was consciously making. That counted for something, didn't it? Arcee probably would say so. And if one of his role models thought he was thinking right, that had to mean he was on the right track here with motivations.

"Are you sure this is the method you want to try?" the scientist asked. "There's always proper time travel-"

"I know, I know," Knock Out waved him off. "Go back, shoot the Big M when he's not so big, etc etc. We've talked about this."

And the medic had already decided.

He wasn't trying to set out to prevent the war or anything (Primus knew it would have started anyways with how bad things were back then). The goal was just to give Breakdown a second chance. A chance to survive the war. A chance to be who he was instead of what Knock Out wanted him to be.

A chance for him to really see his nurse for the first time.

"Plug me in."

The seeker got him ready while Knock Out leaned uneasily against the berth. Those haughty, cocksure yellow optics watched him closely for second thoughts. Their plain color lacking in decoratives only reminded the medic of Breakdown's. Servos clenched tight, he offered no signs of hesitation.

Finally there was no more time for stalling. Brainstorm looked over from where he stood by the lever that would begin the experiment.

"Guess I'll see you in a click," he offered a two finger salute. "Good luck on the other side."

The lever tugged up. A moment later and Brainstorm was unhooking Knock Out from the machinery while the medic rose shakily from the berth.

Or at least the Knock Out in that timeline did.

* * *

"-_ghk_!"

It was an unflattering arrival. The speedster curled over himself in shock, hit his head on the desk he was standing by, and finally managed to straighten up enough to lean against it. Both silver servos lay on the desk and he found himself looking at them. Then he lifted them to his face to feel around its perfect porcelain contours.

He was alive! He'd made it!

Hadn't he?

Knock Out reset his optics and looked about the room he was in. Yes. It was not the place on that moon he'd been bunkering in. This was his old room on the Nemesis. And-

And if it was successful, than he may not have much time.

The door slid open and Knock Out got a good look at the halls of the warship. They were dim, very purple, and sparsely inhabited by vehicons. Not the ones he'd gotten used to, with their decals and colorful paints- the uniform ones of the decepticon army. And the halls lacked the certain charm that he, Smokescreen, and the human Miko had given them (ie they lacked the rampant graffiti that the Nemesis of the future had on it).

This was still the warship during war then. A quick check to his chronometer showed the Earth date and time.

January 31. 21:30. The night that Breakdown had died.

Knock Out tore down the Nemesis until he reached the groundbridge command center.

"Find me the coordinates of the last bridge!" he demanded at the nearest vehicon. The drone took a step back.

"Sir! We-that bridge was used for commanders Dreadwing and Arachnid, sir. It's not protocol to reopen without direct orders from high com-"

"I'm ordering you to!" Knock Out shoved against the vehicon's chest and pushed it back.

Well, that was rather _Starscream-esque_ of him. But there was no time to chuckle or feel disgust. He had to get there before Arachnid got her slimy little servos on his nurse.

"Get it open!"

They would likely check with central about his clearance after he'd gone through. Soundwave (Knock Out had to suppress a shudder at the reminder that Soundwave was up and about in his world again) would catch on before they even made that call. But the spymaster would only see that he had followed the other three. He wouldn't be able to suspect treason or anything. Knock Out had a nearly marless record, other than an occasional prohibited race or two. That had to buy him time enough.

The green light of the groundbridge sparked into view. The medic charged through the bright vortex-

and landed on the cold dirt of Earth. The sky overhead was dark.

He was in the woods. In _the_ woods.

But this time around, if there was going to be a life signal that would go offline tonight in these woods, it would belong to a certain insecticon femme. Knock Out was determined of that much.

* * *

_AN- Thank you for your time! Please drop a thought or two if you are so inclined : Reviews make updates come much faster_


	2. Easy Prey

Knock Out's plan begins to be put to the test as he goes head to head with Airachnid and remembers the autobots of this time are less than welcoming.

_AN- I had to rewatch the show just to double check the plot of this story, but having finished it I'll be updating more often._

_Opening scene occurs before the series._  
_Title comes from a quote from the series (Breakdown's last words, to be exact)_.

* * *

Ah, a new planet. They'd visited a few in the exodus. A colony here and there, a neutral world the war hadn't yet found; some organic and some not.

This one was organic. The ground underneath their pedes was called 'dirt' or 'earth'. The latter was, ironically, the name of the planet itself.

Knock Out had to admit that calling their planet the same word as their dirt was rather apt of the humans. Those were the native life forms of this world. They were tiny and organic and squished easily. The only thing more disturbing than the disgusting fluids they were made of was their uncanny resemblance to cybertronians. In all their travels, Knock Out had never seen aliens that looked anything like his own species. These humans were the first. What a shame that comparison existed when the aliens were such nasty little fleshbags.

But they weren't all that awful. He'd entered their global network upon landing down on the planet and not only saw enough to fit in but also appreciate.

Their automobiles, for one, were quite tantalizing. And in the automobile realm, there was a whole section of life devoted to racing.

As someone who knew how good he looked and fast he could go, Knock Out approved of these priorities.

Then their small (but snazzy and comfortable; Knock Out did have standards of his own) shuttle had been cast in the shadow of a far larger ship.

The _Nemesis_. A decepticon warship.

Current home of the faction's leader, air commander, TIC, and a substantial fraction of the drone army.

All that attention on one little ship above one organic planet.

It almost seemed like overkill.

But he had gotten the message and it was tempting enough. This Earth place had loads of energon and was the last place the autobot leader Optimus Prime had been sighted. Knock Out had taken himself and his partner away from the adventures of the stars to land planetside.

When they were picked up by the _Nemesis_, he got a bit of a surprise. Lord Megatron was not, in fact, actually aboard the warship. Or the planet for that matter.

Apparently, he was off scouring dark space for an army that he could bring back to Earth and use to destroy the last of the Primes.

In his absence, the commanding officer was Starscream.

It had been a while, Knock Out recollected as he listened to the air commander's pontificating.

"You will need to scan a new vehicle mode from the natives," the seeker was drawling to him while inspecting his own claws.

It could either be read as boredom or preening. Knock Out assumed it was the latter. "I strive to run a tight ship in our, ahem, master's, absence. We are amassing our strength, not trying to gain the attention of the fleshlings below us."

That may have alluded to the fact that they were on board a ship high above any human populace.

Or it may have just been a jab at the humans inferiority.

If he knew Starscream, it was-

"Why bother?"

The air commander's wings dropped as his preening was interrupted. Then he turned on the culprit; Breakdown. His partner was standing a little ways behind Knock Out while the medic discussed matters with Starscream.

"I mean, we've got more than enough strength," Breakdown shrugged. "Why try to hide?"

"W-we-e are not _hiding_," the commander fumbled angrily. "We are _strategizing_. Why earn the Prime's attention when we can lull him into a false sense of security?"

Knock Out figured now was the time to intercede.

"It is not a problem at all, _herr commandant,_" the speedster waved an arm in front of his chassis and dipped down while slipping into one of Earth's native languages he had downloaded. "The automobiles on this planet are quite flashy; whether for strategy or hiding, it's about time for us to change our _aussehen_. These old forms have gotten stale. Right, Breakdown?"

His assistant laughed while Starscream looked disgusted at the mention of automobiles. "Heh, yeah. We only scanned our latest models two metaklicks ago."

"And that means it's time to try a new style," Knock Out finished for him. "I saw some heavy duty models for you that are _real alluring_."

The orange faceplate grinned back at his purr. Behind their heads, Starscream gave a faux cough.

"Yes, well, all that is nice and all but we really should move on to discussing your new positions here," the seeker had returned to his baritone drawl. Knock Out did have to admire that voice and the beautiful finish of the mech, even if he was spindly and a flier.

"I'm sure you can find that the medical b-"

Knock Out and Breakdown exchanged glances. In that stare, Knock Out knew exactly what both of them were thinking.

It was pretty easy to know; after all, his assistant was practically in sync with him. He always knew what they both wanted.

"Actually..." the medic interrupted.

It was time to inform the commander that this duo preferred to run freelance.

A bit like neutrals, really. But they were cons through and through. They had been for vorns of wartime.

Always putting their own paint in front of any other priority. Always eager to have a bit of violent fun.

But primarily that first one. And what better way to keep the both of them safe than to have them roam the planet away from the decepticon warship and autobot threats?

* * *

Knock Out sprinted through the forest. The undergrowth and trees kept him from driving.

What a pain 'nature' was. He did not miss that about Earth.

"Come on, comeoncomon-"

Another yell echoed through the woods. It increased the panic he already felt. A comm line lay dead. He had no plans to talk to the Nemesis command. Another hung open just in case his high frequency signal and its embedded message (thank you, Starscream, and thank you Bulkhead for telling him about all those incidents from the seeker) got responded to.

So far nothing. No back up on the way yet.

Somewhere, if his report was to be believed, Dreadwing was trying to free himself and assist Breakdown.

The seeker would fail. Knock Out knew very well that Breakdown would be killed by Airachnid and harvested by M.E.C.H. if this was left up to Dreadwing.

This time, he was here and he planned to do better than the seeker tonight; he would not listen to the screams of his partner only to find him dead! That would make this entire venture pointless! And Knock Out had risked too much going back to a time when the cons were alive and well and the bots would shoot him on sight.

Well. Hopefully they would when they showed. _If_ they showed.

By the Allspark, they all had better.

"Come _on_!"

Another noise of pain- this one closer. Airachnid's little tittering laugh was audible this time.

Knock Out kept running. One servo reached behind him and felt for his staff. Ah, it was the good old days when he still had the thing.

He shot another embedded message to the faction that still considered him an enemy. A little backup, both in the strength and medical department, would be great right about-

_Now_. Knock Out stumbled to a stop. The staff crackled with electricity at the tip but it had drifted to pointing down. The servo holding it had gone into shock.

But he wasn't the only one who had gone still. A few meters away, Airachnid had paused to look at the newcomer. Purple optics widened in surprise and then narrowed down. Judging by the smirk that appeared, it wasn't in worry.

His servos clenched up. It had been a while since he'd seen her last. Since she had torn apart Breakdown's chassis and killed Silas. Always so smug, always getting away with everything- excluding the look of horror frozen on her face when she was trapped in the stasis pod, she always looked like she had the upper hand.

It really rubbed him the wrong way. The spider-bot should wear agony instead of smugness for a change.

The staff lifted up again. He'd oblige with that.

The femme was half crawled upon his unmoving partner. Breakdown was on the ground in Airachnid's webbing, hammer stuck in a web stretched in the air above him. It was unconnected to his body. Both legs were scattered near him. The chest plates of the blue mech were ripped apart and leaking, but Knock Out could see the blue glow of his spark still emanating from it.

And his head, cut as it was, still remained attached to his chassis.

Knock Out supposed he had Airachnid's tendency to play with her prey to thank for Breakdown's survival.

But this would be a fragging pain to repair. And Knock Out would have to be stressed the whole time, worried his efforts wouldn't work, altogether playing with far too high stakes to be anything but miserable-

_Thank you, Airachnid._ Now to repay the favor.

The mech slid forward. Airachnid hissed and leapt from Breakdown. Her extra limbs hit the dirt and shifted away from his charge. Knock Out spun to right himself and swung the staff forward. It missed the smaller target and gave her the chance to throw her servos out. The same webbing that kept Breakdown stuck shot at him and wrapped his arm to the ground behind.

Airachnid shot up as if she had won. Her mistake. He was no normal prey for her tricks to work on him. The medic transformed an arm into a buzzsaw; its roared to life and shredded through the web. White shards and splatters flew around the dirt and landed on his buffed finish.

The nerve of her- wait. Her nerve lay in what she'd done to Breakdown. That's why he was here. That was what he was going to dissect her for.

The insecticon crouched back. Knock Out rolled to his side to avoid her when she leapt onto the spot he'd been cutting through her web. One of the many organic trees that had the audacity of making up this forest stood in his way and the kibble of his back crashed into it. One wheel pinched and metal bent. The medic stumbled up to his pedes without pausing to attend to it. The staff was still in one servo while the other remained a barely moving saw. Airachnid, despite leaking a trail of her own energon, looked unhindered.

It took him a bit off balance. She wasn't supposed to be having any sort of upper hand. Knock Out not only prided himself for his intellectual abilities in medicine, but also for his skills as a combatant.

And he'd really only seen Airachnid fight when she'd been a fool enough to go up against Soundwave. Of course, Breakdown had talked about her after the fight over the polarity gauntlet; but she hardly seemed like all that much.

It only now occurred to him that Megatron, as deluded as dark energon made him, had a reason for letting her be (however temporarily) his second in command.

He took a slight step back to reorient himself. Somewhere in the woods, Dreadwing was still yelling. Breakdown was groaning, though his one optic was still shut...or missing, he couldn't yet tell.

"Going somewhere?" Airachnid waved a hand by her head, eyes still narrowed in predatory mirth. Oh, he did not miss that voice either. "Or are you here to avenge your partner?"

She said it like he was dead already. Knock Out _had not_ gone through the pit to get here only for Breakdown to die.

"I'll rip you to shreds-" he promised in a way far more reminiscent of Breakdown himself than his own usual style.

The insecticon laughed. A little more energon dripped from her missing limb.

A weak side then. That's what he'd attack next.

This needed to finish fast. He really needed to be stabilizing Breakdown right now, without having to worry about Airachnid attacking him.

"Oh, doctor," she laughed. "I really do prefer A_r-c_ee as a grudgemate to yourself."

There was a growl and then Knock Out ran at her again, spinning his sparking staff. She gave another hiss and prepared to retaliate.

And then the scene lit up in green. Both fighters paused. Their heads turned to look at the nearby groundbridge.

The decepticons? Knock Out didn't remember them arriving to help so quickly in his timeline.

And the bridge had spun into existence at the spot of his last impatient message.

Just as he felt the excited hope of reinforcements, Airachnid seemed to lose her desire to stay around. She was creeping back and Knock Out was too slow in stopping her.

Then the autobots came from the groundbridge, weapons out and ready for a trap, and the relief came in full.

Optimus Prime- alive and well. Looking as impressive and dangerous as ever. His blue optics widened at the sight of Breakdown and the other two.

And, even more importantly, the medic. If anyone could keep Breakdown from offlining, it was Ratchet. With Knock Out's helpful expertise, of course.

Gah, it was hard to admit the other medic was better than he was. It left a bad taste in his tanks.

The other autobots, sans Bumblebee, had their weapons hot and pointed at him and Airachnid. That bit was decidedly less wonderful.

But they all were still enemies at this point in time. Knock Out had been a con up until the very end of the war and this was still a few months from that end. Their hostilities were to be expected. He'd gone over this scenario a hundred times with Brainstorm.

One of the autobots broke formation. Arcee's guns dipped down and her optics went wide.

"_Airachnid_." Her growl was a premonition to her immediate charge forward. The insecticon bounded away from Knock Out's side. For a moment, he moved to follow in the chase. He still had a vengeance from two timelines to dish out.

A moment later and he had caught himself.

Airachnid could be killed another day.

Tonight was about saving someone.

The medic rushed to Breakdown's side for the first time since arriving. His servos flew over the gutted form and he hardly caught the fact that he was muttering to the mech in stasis.

He hardly noticed that the autobots, without the Prime, had circled around him with their weapons still hot.

He even barely caught the moment Ratchet scanned the injured mech and then folded down beside him to get to work on stabilizing.

But in a few of Earth's minutes, Knock Out would have to face all those unfortunate realities. And his plans (save Breakdown and defect together to the team currently losing but ultimately winning this war) seemed a little too vague to offer much confidence.

A few details on what to say next to convince an unhappy looking Bulkhead that the autobots should let them both in would probably be handy right about now.

Still? The fact was that the most important detail in the moment was how Breakdown's spark was flickering but living on.

* * *

_AN- After taking notes of the characters of TFP's mannerisms when they talk, I've decided a ton of them wave their arms a lot, look at their hands, and do weird little dancing movements (And yell at the sky quite dramatically)._

_Not sure how much of that will be incorporated into the narrative XD_


	3. He's Proud Of Me

"And you don't think we can take advantage of the chaos? Motivate a Decepticon to join our cause?"  
-General Bryce, S2 E9

_AN- Optimus and Knock Out have a (long) chat_

* * *

The noise alerted Ratchet to the terminal. He moved from his own desk, where he was currently working on stabilizing the synthetic energon formula, to the beeping screen. Behind him, Bulkhead turned away from the human television set he'd been watching to approach him.

"What is it?" the wrecker asked before Ratchet even had a chance to check. The medic waited until he knew the answer before speaking up slowly.

"A high frequency signal."

Again. Bulkhead leaned closer and added: "with an embedded message."

They shared a glance.

"Starscream?" the wrecker shrugged.

Most likely. The seeker would have no other medical care while surviving as a 'neutral'. It was easy to admit that he had little interest in going, even for the information, after Starscream had played such a role in Bumblebee losing his T-Cog.

A couple taps and the answer came up on screen.

It was not Starscream.

It was from the _Nemesis_'s CMO.

_Wish to defect_

_Breakdown injured_

_Bring aid to coordinates immediately_

Neither spoke a moment. Then Bulkhead tried to give a nervous laugh.

"Um," he pointed, "That's not...serious, right? We aren't believing this, right?"

Knowing Optimus?

Ratchet sighed.

"That's not our call to make, even if this is an obvious trap," the medic said.

"B-but. But this is _Breakdown_ and Doc Knock we're talking about!" Bulkhead gestured, "There's no way they're being genuine!"

Personally? Ratchet wasn't anywhere as naive about the reality of defectors. Autobots he'd known in the past had defected before. Some impressive autobots, amazing surgeons, people he'd considered friends- gone. Gone in a way death could never hurt like.

And he'd known Decepticons who had defected to Autobots. Even really brutal, horrific cons like-like-(he thought of beige plating and ridiculous optimism and regrets)- like Deadlock, of all mechs.

Was the record staining both these cons' pasts disgusting? Knock Out was well known as a butcher and a medical sadist. Breakdown had weighed on Bulkhead's processor for vorns before he had even joined Knock Out's side.

Did that mean they should turn aside two new allies when they were already so outnumbered?

That...that wasn't really Ratchet's call to make. And he was glad of it.

The imbedded message sent again; this time with more impatient and exclamatory glyphs.

"As I said," he shook his head, "It's probably a trap. But it's up to Optimus to decide our next actions. So why don't you go grab him?"

The green mech grumbled and walked away. Both arms swung wide in emphasis to whatever grumble he was muttering and knocked tools from the crate he'd been walking by.

Oh, for the love of...

"Bulkhead," Ratchet moaned and gained the big mech's sheepish expression, "I-

* * *

There had been a celebration on Cybertron when Bumblebee had made warrior class.

There had been another when Ratchet had decided Knock Out was ready to be certified as a doctor.

In the past, Knock Out would have been

1) angry that Ratchet had ever not considered his skill to be real and

2) pleased to get any sort of celebration and attention

Were both of those factors still in play? Well...yes. Yes, they were both there. But...

But there was something _more_.

Something he felt when Ratchet handed him all the proof and smiled and told him he'd done well. Something about how Arcee clapped extra loudly from the small audience, Bulkhead hit his back with a laugh, Bumblebee offered such sincere sounding congratulations, Wheeljack threw together an after party, Smokescreen gave him a present, the humans cheered him on- pit, even the way Ultra Magnus went to register him as an official surgeon in the autobot ranks felt good.

It was a different feel good than he was used to. But his time with the bots had been making him feel all sorts of new emotions.

While he had play pretended at feeling it for the whole time in their ranks before (and spoke in private with Arcee a few times about his concerns and questions), it really first dawned on him at the celebration.

There was something indiscernible, borderline unnatural, that he experienced then.

Having pride in himself was easy. He always had that pride, even if it made him pout for cycles if someone insulted him in some way, in himself. How could he not when he was such perfection in cybertronian form?

But having someone else be proud of him...what in the pit was that about? Did they expect him to be able to be proud of them for any of their achievements? That would be rather hard if those achievements didn't relate to him.

Whatever they were doing here, he wasn't sure if he could reciprocate. Would they be mad if he didn't?

Knock Out looked over Team Prime in their various expressions of celebration.

...no. They probably wouldn't be. They probably already knew what he was like and still came and bothered to hold this in his honor. Just to party over something he did, even if it didn't relate to them at all.

This was a different level of pride.

But Knock Out found it incredibly addicting.

And he sought to perform well for them twice as hard after that. Were his motivations in the right place? Maybe not. "Progress is progress," Arcee shrugged.

He missed those types of conversations with the two-wheeler.

He missed all of that team.

And he missed their leader; even if he had only been the Prime's ally at the very end, the big mech had left a huge impact on him.

When it came to being praised, you really couldn't beat affirmation from Prime himself.

* * *

"There's a rupture in the pelvic fuel line," Knock Out said, "We need to suture it."

The help in suturing didn't arrive. Instead, he got the sense that someone was staring hard into the back of his head.

The younger medic looked over to see Ratchet's brief, unsmiling expression; brief, since the older medic returned to working a nano later.

...Right. They weren't allies in this world. Ratchet wasn't a mentor. This wasn't the Ratchet who had held a certification ceremony in honor of Knock Out meeting his incredibly high medical standards.

Knock Out returned to looking at Breakdown's internals with a gulp. His silver servos were coated in oils and blue energon. The weapons still humming behind his head became more apparent.

The blue mech still hadn't come out of stasis. Still, despite missing three out of four limbs, he looked better than how his form had looked as Silas's puppet. And his spark still shone. Knock Out hadn't seen it since his Breakdown had died; but he recognized the possessiveness that rose within his own spark at the sight.

_Mine._

No, hold on- Breakdown's spark was Breakdown's. Why was this so hard for him to comprehend? He'd been trying so hard ever since the war ended!

Maybe he should have been given a certificate for all the effort he put into being a, what had Arcee called it?, 'decent person'. Really, he did deserve an award for all the painstaking work he suffered through in pursuit of fitting in with the rest of them.

_"Your spark is in the right place,"_ the two-wheeler of his time had told him. _"Seriously. Don't beat yourself down. You want to think about other mech's as mech's. Maybe you have to put work in, but the desire to be 'good' is all your own choice; and, believe it or not, that choice is just as impressive as the empathy you're after."_

Meanwhile, the Arcee of this time was only now returning from her passionate chase of Airachnid. Optimus was at her side, a good twice her size in height, while she stomped back with hunched shoulders. One of his servos was gently on her shoulder and she was visibly leaning against its weight.

"I could've gotten her," he heard her grumble. Somehow, Knock Out doubted it. Arcee was vicious in a fight, but her hunts for Airachnid did not have the highest success rate.

But that wasn't really important right now. After all, the Autobot team (except for Bumblebee, who was likely manning the groundbridge while Ratchet attended to the medical emergency that was Breakdown) was now all together again.

Knock Out had to resist gulping again. They were circled around him. He busied himself with digging through Breakdown's bleeding chassis.

The message had to have been enough if they had came and brought Ratchet just as asked.

If Starscream managed to wheedle medical care out of them, Knock Out took the risk that they could too. And if the autobots were so outnumbered surely they couldn't turn down the chance to add two to their ranks.

Even if they happened to hate these two.

Oh. That didn't look good. Knock Out leaned closer and inspected the acid eating into the secondary alt-mode engine. He'd forgotten about Airachnid's acid; those injuries would be trickier to repair.

In a medic's focus, he had dug in to work on it. The older medic had moved closer to see what he was leaning so far down to work on and, both for the moment ignoring their status as enemies, began on-site treatment of internal acid wounds. The clipped edge to Ratchet's voice when giving commands was nothing new; even as allies, the bulkier mech had always sounded clipped in surgeries. It was a part of his no-nonsense policy. Quite unlike the flair Knock Out prefered to do everything with.

There was good reason that they hadn't gotten along well at the start; professional differences left both feeling more entitled than the other. Sadly, their positions within the winning team meant Knock Out had to be the first to back down.

"Ratchet." Optimus spoke up from behind the old medic and his voice sent a mixture of awe and terror (simply because of the unfortunate lack of 'trust' in the moment) down his back struts. "How is the patient?"

And that was the Prime, wasn't it? Knock Out had heard so many stories from Team Prime that he'd started to feel like he knew the big guy too; not a bad strut in that mechs body. It wasn't 'how is the con' or 'how is the prisoner', oh no.

Well, that at least gave Knock Out a comforting sense of confidence. If anyone was to believe his message about the desire to desert, it seemed it could be the Prime himself.

And surely if Optimus accepted it then the rest would follow.

Even ones like Bulkhead, who was seething in a way Knock Out had never seen during his time in Team Prime.

"Stabilizing," Ratchet answered without looking up. "But I'll need to get him somewhere with real equipment to keep things that way."

Wait.

"Move him?" Knock Out asked loudly. It was far more confrontational than he had been thus far. The way everyone glared at him proved that.

Whoops. But it was better than them ignoring him; which was precisely what Ratchet did next.

"I've done all I can here," the older medic returned to speaking with Optimus instead.

"Do you see him?" the younger interjected, "Moving him is too risky-"

"Do you want your partner to live?" Ratchet snapped at him.

For the third time, Knock Out gulped. His mouth opened and shut a few times before Optimus spoke up instead: "Then we will go."

Nearby, Bulkhead's gun arms dropped.

"Wait. W-we're bringing them back to our base? What's next, handing them out the keys?"

Knock Out did not remember this side of Bulkhead from the time they'd spent together on post-war Cybertron; when he would prank the other with Miko, or offer free cosmetic sessions the wrecker did not want, or visit drive in theaters on Earth with Bulkhead's human...

The complaints did not stop Optimus from comming the base. "Bumblebee? We need a bridge."

There was a pause as someone, likely the scout but who knew if the humans were being nosy, spoke unheard.

"We will. Please inform our human allies to keep a safe distance away," the Prime answered the unheard question.

A second later and the dark forest lit up in green again. The bridge made the earth dirt bright and the spilt energon shine. Energon from Breakdown; from the mech that Ratchet was insisting on moving from the scene.

Knock Out liked the grouchy old medic. But if his decision to move his partner instead of operating on site ended up killing Breakdown, he would **never** forgive Ratchet.

The scout rushed through the bridge to take in the scene.

"Bumblebee, get his head" Ratchet wasted no time snapping at the newcomer, "Bulkhead, I need you to support his chassis. Help me carry him and _keep him steady._" It seemed Knock Out wasn't the only medic on edge about this movement.

"Arcee, get the limbs. Optimus-"

The old medic paused to look at the Prime, unsaid conversation passing between old friends. Whatever they had communicated, the medic did not finish whatever order he'd been planning on saying.

Optimus turned away from Ratchet and Knock Out felt his blue stare melt him down to the earth below.

"Knock Out. We must speak," the Prime said simply.

And here he'd been feeling a little ignored. He tried to rise up to his pedes and felt like jelly. What a disgustingly squishy sensation. And why was he experiencing it anyways?

Knock Out shook it off and straightened up to his normally cocky pose.

Which seemed to make every autobot except the Prime stiffen in hostile preparation.

But Optimus didn't reveal any such reaction. The intimidating mech merely gestured for the other to follow him through the bridge.

* * *

Knock Out had never been able to go inside Autobot Outpost Omega One. He had seen what it looked like from his medbay while he watched Megatron find answers from Smokescreen through the cortical psychic patch but that was it.

It was...a bit of a let down. Small, for one thing. Cluttered and ugly, for another. Ew.

There was a hall that led deeper into the bunker. Human commercial doors blocked the view of the rooms connected to it.

Breakdown could probably rip through one of those doors in one go. Knock Out would manage with a little bit more time.

There was no way Prime didn't realize that.

They stood at the far end of the hall. At the center portion of the base, where the groundbridge was placed, came lively noise. The medbay was down there. Breakdown was down there and Knock Out's servos fidgeted without the ability to use them for the vital medical care. He caught Optimus staring at them; probably knowingly.

He was an open book for the Prime.

It was terrifying.

It also must have been something innate to leaders. Megatron could easily figure out what one of his cons was thinking. Starscream was a wild card to everyone but the big guy. He could cut right through any of Knock Out's excuses or plans with a glare.

But Megatron lacked what Optimus had. The red (or purple, after his lordship decided to be a complete idiot and play god with dark energon) optics could make you melt in fear and desire to be called a better servant than any of the others. Optimus's made you want to be better not for competition purposes but just to make him proud.

It had been a groundbreaking experience when Knock Out had first felt the Prime's praise at the Well.

There was no going back to the cons and Megatron as a leader after that.

"Your message said you have a desire to defect from the decepticons," Optimus began slowly. But then again everything he said was slow. Painfully patient.

Currently, he did not seem about to praise him for 'acting as a prime'. But Prime didn't seem all that hostile either.

Knock Out wished in the moment he was able to read others better.

"Why?"

His tanks dropped. _Well, see sir, I'm from the future-_

Hah, no. Although he wasn't all that sure why not...other than coming across as a complete lunatic and getting locked up in stasis.

"I...u-" Oh, come on. He wasn't this 'tongue-tied'. He was sauve and confident and _a knock out_ who was well aware of it.

If he kept this up, he'd be asking for the Prime's autograph next and then he'd be written off as a lunatic for sure.

"We've never been all that loyal to the decepticons," Knock Out said instead with a shrug. "We joined for the freedoms given and then spent vorns wandering like neutrals. And after the way Megatron refused to let any aid go to Breakdown when he was being ripped apart by M.E.C.H.-" the spitting vitriol was no act. It was genuine and Optimus seemed to be able to tell. "I think we know exactly where we stand in their ranks."

Lip curled up, Knock Out looked away.

There was a silence.

"There is nothing in your historical behavior that seems to point at a desire to become an autobot."

That was almost laughable. Nothing in this worlds history, no, but how little they knew.

"Our safety doesn't matter to the decepticons," Knock Out challenged, "If anything, living among their ranks just increases the likelihood one of us will fall victim to an attempt at treason."

All of which was true. If the years had made that fact dull, returning to the night Airachnid turned on the cons who had first turned on her through Megatron's orders refreshed his mind to it all.

"Why should I bother fighting for a faction that doesn't value our safety?" he sneered.

Optimus listened. Somewhere down the hall came more chaotic noises. The beeping of spark monitors coming online, the noises of the wrecker- he wanted so badly to investigate and take over the scene.

"I want to fight for a side that cares about my life," Knock Out said what he had decided cycles before. It had, after all, been the decision that Cybertron had blacklisted him for; loyalty to the memory of the Prime and autobots he led. "I want to fight for teammates."

It wasn't a natural want, no. But it was a drive that the members of Team Prime had. And Knock Out wanted to be do them proud, even if their past versions would have no context to that.

There was a rumble of the semi's engine.

Knock Out went completely still, waiting for Optimus to say something.

Hopefully, something along the lines of 'I believe you' and 'welcome aboard'.

"You have to understand" Prime started up, "this is not a transition easily made. While I do find your reasoning compelling, we would be forced to enter you into a probation stage. This could easily be a trap meant to discover the location of this base and reveal it to the decepticons."

"And?" the medic shrugged, "I'm no idiot. I figured as much before sending the message."

"I will have Ratchet disable your weapons and you will both have to remain under guard to watch your movements. Any motion to hurt any of our human charges or leave the base will be met with force. Understand?"

That was something he understood long ago. Compared to everything else he and Brainstorm had prepped on, that was easy. Knock Out nodded.

"It won't be easy," Optimus said. "There are few of us. You and your partner pose an undeniable threat to such a small unit if we are divided while you remain at the base. Your additional expertise and firepower would be undeniably helpful, but it would require a transition that will be hard on all of us involved. For us. For you. For Breakdown. Bulkhead sees him as a rival. It could cause undue tension. And..."

There was the slightest uncomfortable hesitation. It made his tanks sink.

Something about that motion left him full of dread.

"And?" he prodded.

"There are few rooms we could keep you in during probation. There are even fewer resources we can allocate to you both. Our supplies are stretched with our former number; an additional two will strain what we have."

Oh.

_Oh._

The _Nemesis_ had never been at a loss of fuel. Since he hadn't been feeling any strain, Knock Out had never registered that it existed.

He hadn't remembered that the autobots of the war did not have the mines and miners of the decepticon army.

"You...you don't have enough energon for us," he said slowly.

There wasn't an immediate response, but there was a distinct air of discomfort engulfing the two.

"So you...you don't have room for additional ranks? We can't defect because there isn't enough energon for us to leave the cons?" Knock Out asked.

Prime frowned.

"If you are being genuine, we will make due."

Oh, that wasn't good enough. Make due? What was this attitude?

How did the autobots in this rinky dink place 'making due' with their energon supplies ever beat the _Nemesis_ and its armies?

"Slag it all," the medic cursed, "energon shouldn't have to be a determining factor in whose side I-we pick!"

"On the contrary," Optimus said sadly, "It was over energon that we began to pick sides in the first place."

There was another silence. Someone yelled for Optimus; it sounded a bit like Ratchet (but it'd better not be; that old rust bucket had better not be looking away from his patient). It stirred Prime to move first, unlocking one of the commercial doors and then rolling it up to reveal the square room beyond. A few old tools lay stacked unorderly in one corner.

"At the moment, you may stay in here. If one of us is with you, then you can visit the main room. There is still much to discuss, but little time."

Understanding a cue when it slapped him in the face, Knock Out stepped gingerly into the dingy room. Dust shuffled under his pedes.

This was demeaning.

But still not as bad as hiding out on a moon from the very planet he'd 'helped' keep from Unicron.

"We will further discuss what it means to be an autobot at a later time," Optimus continued. "Leaving the decepticon cause does not mean you are best fit for the autobots. Should you both decide to go on as neutrals, you will no longer be marked as hostiles on the field."

Despite how dangerous it could be, Knock Out couldn't help but roll his optics.

"Believe me," the medic replied, "I've made this decision. I want to join the autobots, not leave the decepticons to go neutral."

He'd already made the decision and gone through Ultra Magnus's pontificating on the cause and the code and Ratchet's mandatory medical sessions with him and all the grief of being hunted by a hostile council-

Optimus looked almost surprised with how quickly and passionately he had replied.

"...While I am not sure you know what that entails, it is never wrong to see a decepticon realize the errors of their faction. Whether you yet register those errors or not, we have not yet established."

Someone called him again. That time it sounded too high; a human, he figured. Arcee appeared in the hallway and made her way over.

"Regardless," Optimus finished without looking away, "I am glad you and your partner have decided to join our cause."

...well, he had at least.

Breakdown, on the other hand, had no idea he was going to come out of stasis in the autobot base and have to play nice with his new teammates.

Knock Out beamed at the Prime while his thoughts spun wild.

"I do aim to please," he said rather than the truth. Optimus didn't smile (Knock Out had only seen him do that before he sacrificed himself to bring life to the well) but he did seem proud.

The medic had almost forgotten how good the Prime's approval made him feel. Primus, he should have joined the autobots sooner. They lit a fire in him that the decepticons failed to ever manifest.

He had more than enough pride for himself; having another be proud of him was on another level. The council could go frag themselves if they tried to suppress it.

When the Prime moved down the hall and the two-wheeler took up post outside the makeshift cell, Knock Out finally stopped basking in the warmth of Optimus's praise and instead thought about the problem he'd brought up.

His partner had never decided to join the autobots but he'd led the Prime to believe he had.

There were really only a few choice words to express his emotions on the matter.

He settled with: "Well, scrap."

* * *

_AN- Everyone give KO a pat on the back for his A+ planning skills_


	4. A Busy Day For Traitors

The rest of Crossfire's events occur. No one has time for this chaos.  
Knock Out tries to make a friend.

_AN- Ratchet is such a lovable grouch, he's not fooling any of us_

* * *

Ratchet felt buzzed with exhausted energy. He was still in his medbay, which felt smaller than ever when his patient was so large.

At least he had been left alone. It was hard to focus when everyone was talking and demanding attention overhead. Whether it was Arcee seething in her hate of Airachnid and fighting off traumatic panic at seeing another mech cut apart by the insecticon, or Bulkhead playing the human television as loud as it could go (which could have been his own effort to distract himself, or it could have been a petty reaction to having his teammates lean in concern over his rival), or even Bumblebee speaking up enthusiastically about if this was a sign the war was turning in their favor-

Whatever the distraction was, it acted as an irritant to the medic trying to focus.

Eventually, they'd all gotten the point and left him be.

And eventually, Optimus would probably let the other con under their roof come see his 'patient'.

However risky that was.

It was sometimes hard to be the most cautious mech at the base but with these rash younglings as teammates, someone had to be.

Even if it meant doing the same old song and dance. He'd protest about the risk, the danger, the threat at servo. They'd give excuses and then Optimus would step in to say they would try their best to be safe while also taking the risk.

He'd done it for the humans; told them all that the children were at danger walking underpede. Optimus merely said to watch their step.

He'd done it for their connection to the organics; refused to learn more about the species because he didn't want them all to become attached to what very well may have been a species at risk for extinction by decepticon guns. Optimus took it upon himself to protect the entire race (and, in doing so, made them a perfect target for Megatron- if the warlord wanted to strike Optimus where it hurt, why pass up the opportunity to strike at the organics the Prime wanted to defend? Ratchet had seen it happen before on other worlds).

And then Megatron had almost killed Rafael. Ratchet had panicked as he tried to save a human boy that he had failed to learn the proper medicine for.

The decision to ignore the biology of earth wasn't based in caution. It was him being stubborn. It was him being foolish.

Perhaps more of what he called caution, advice that the others almost always chose not to follow, was also based in stubborn pride.

It was a tired song and dance. It was a routine he could hardly break out of now.

But it was good that he was not always heeded.

That said, when it came to medicine he wouldn't hear any of their opinions. The peanut gallery was banned from interupted his focus.

Now, the worst of it was over and Ratchet was left to let the buzz from surgery fade into the back of his tired processor.

The screens built from rudimentary earth technology were reporting stable vitals. The three limbs had been welded back on. Energon leaks had been stopped and basic repairs were done to burned internals.

While he hated to leave the task until the patient was up and walking again, Ratchet knew now was a good chance to rest.

So of course that was when Starscream decided to contact the base.

* * *

It was a bit awkward, to say the least.

When Cybertron had started becoming more hostile, forcing Team Prime members to quit their jobs or leave planet, Arcee had gone before many of the others. She had been a cartogrophist of the newly reborn planet's growing cities and areas along with the moons being set up with populaces. It was a job that utilized her skills as a scout and let her adventure around; she liked it. Once or twice, she'd taken Knock Out with her. It wasn't exactly his ideal way to relax, but the two of them would soak in an oil bath upon returning _home_.

He knew for a fact that Arcee had missed oil baths while she was on Earth. It was hard for him to say he knew another person's wants, but she had outright told him this and so he felt that was as good enough as unarguable truth.

Then '_home_' transformed. Cybertron lost their idolizing love of Team Prime. Arcee was told they had no need for a cartogrophist. The department in charge of her employment scheduled an appointment to discuss and assign a new career. Arcee had visited each of Team Prime to inform them. She had taken each of them to participate in something they loved. The femme had taken Knock Out out to the Well and they'd gone for a drive around the place where the sparks of their partners lay. _Did she want to get assigned a new job?_ Arcee laughed at that. _No. She was no tool of the new council._

They talked about different subjects after that. There was an impended dread tied to speaking about the future that night.

She was gone the next cycle.

Just-

Well, she had liked adventures. Knock Out had known she was disapearing that last night. The vibe was there. A farewell. An ending.

Maybe she was on Earth with her human partner. Maybe she was travelling around the cosmos like Wheeljack.

Knock Out hadn't had the time to find out before the council's hostilities began to loom down on him.

He'd stuck around longer than some of the 'bots. Some of them were like Arcee; they had read the ending and left before things got as bad as they did.

But he really fragging missed her.

And now here she was! But the two-wheeler standing in the hall with crossed arms was not the femme who'd taken him on a drive around the Well just to say goodbye.

Every part of Knock Out automatically thought she was. But his instincts to treat her like a friend to would only be met by confusion or anger on the part of the Arcee in front of him.

They looked identical.

They _were_ identical.

But they lacked the history his memories were convinced they shared.

Knock Out picked a bit more dried energon and dirt off his claws. Arcee stared at the wall behind him; a pair of stasis cuffs were at her pedes ignored.

"So."

The medic looked up from his cleaning when the two-wheeler spoke first.

"What was that about?" she asked, "'Scrap'? Did Optimus see through you or something?"

Not in the way she was expecting to hear, no.

Memory-built instinct told him to reply. He would answer his Arcee without hesitation.

Well, he'd gone back to make things right. To save Breakdown and start to _listen_ to him. To find out who Breakdown really was and befriend that mech. Why not start a new bond with a new Arcee right here and now?

It took him a moment to respond to her: "...I only know realize the flaw in my plan."

Her brows shot up as if she was surprised he answered her, or maybe shocked at what he had let slip.

"What, getting locked up? It's not like we're gonna let you waltz out of base and call the con warship down on us."

"Don't be like that," he offered a winning smile, "The skepticism is ruining your lovely features."

The autobot recoiled.

Ah, his words always did hold so much power. The smile grew. How many mechs did he drive up the wall with talk alone?

"I meant nothing of the sort," the medic continued, to answer her suspicion. "I merely referred to the little...problem I may have."

Since she was still wrestling with looks of blank surprise and offense, he kept speaking.

Autobots were sappy anyways. Spilling your spark (or whatever was safe to spill at your current position in their society) made you look far more trustworthy and sympathetic to them.

"See, I fully desire to defect to the autobots. But I may have misled you a bit..."

Arcee scoffed. "Imagine that," she muttered.

"-While I have my mind made up, I actually haven't asked-... Well, I said we both want to defect but. It's just. I don't actually know-"

Admitting it, even to a familiar face, made him nervous. How exactly would they react? He would be very upset if they grew hostile to his partner.

"Idon'tknowwhatBreakdownwants," Knock Out sped through it. He kept careful watch of Arcee's expression.

Heh, so many said she had a stony face. But they had no idea how revealing the two-wheeler could be with her countenance. Right now her brows had crawled up again. Her optics scanned his own expression and retracted in thought.

Her mouth opened to respond but in the seconds of pause she was silent in, a call for her came from down the hall. Both looked away. With a frustrated sigh, Arcee knelt down and picked up the forgotten cuffs.

"Looks like none of us can babysit you right now," she motioned for his arms and he hesitated in offering them. Those cuffs were going to rub at his paint and leave scratches; and they meant he would lose his conversation partner. What a pain.

As soon as they were clipped, he stepped away and the two-wheeler pulled the door down again. The sound of a locking mechanism clacked into place. Barely tall enough to look through the windows of the door, Arcee glared him down.

"Stay put," she joked dryly, "Or I'll have to hunt you down."

The two-wheeler disappeared and Knock Out slid down to the ground. For the first time since arriving in this past, he was able to let himself relax. Or calm as much as he could when he still hummed with energy and the frantic want to hijack Ratchet's work in the medbay.

And a part of him wondered why the autobots had all seemed to be so busy tonight of all nights when he and his news of defecting should have stolen all focus.

* * *

It was a trap.

That should not have come anyone's surprise.

At the moment, they had not been noticed by any of the other parties. Airachnid sat on a stone outcropping with legs crossed like royalty passing judgement down. In the center of the cavern below her watchful optics, the two fighters clashed. An insecticon warrior growled and bashed at its opponent.

The resemblance between some of the fierce beasts that had gone up against Megatronus in the arena struck Optimus. How many times had the arena set their rebellious fighter against the worst of creatures in hopes he would die? How many times had Orion Pax watched, flinching at the violence, but cheering for him?

And just like those battles always ended with the gladiator, injured and bleeding, standing atop the monster with blades in the air, the Prime had no doubt this one would end in Megatron's victory.

A victory that would not come without a heavy cost. Without his cannon, the warlord was cut and limping. Under normal circumstances, this would end like any other fight with the decepticons; with both leaders walking away alive.

Circumstances had changed as of late. Ratchet, under the influence of synthetic energon, had told him off for all the times he had left the warlord alive. _'You know what your problem is, Optimus? For such a big, strong bot, you're soft.'_ His failure to terminate Megatron had allowed the war to extend and extend.

Now, the decepticon leader was being weakened by his duel with the insecticon warrior. Whether he knew it or not, his ranks had shrunk by three that day; Airachnid was currently acting as Starscream and his duo of medics were safe from his reach under the roof of the autobot base.

As heavy as the cost was for him, Optimus realized when Megatron roared up at the watching autobots while wavering over the insecticon's gray form, he needed to end this war.

And without the head of their armies, perhaps what few remained of the Nemesis's lieutenants would chose peace like Knock Out had this very day.

Somewhere above them all, Arcee slammed to the ground in Airachnid's cocoon. The murderer of Cliffjumper stepped over her and slid on foot into the woods.

And in the air, one of the last loyal decepticon officers led his team of vehicons to the spot of Airachnid's trap.

Neither he, nor the warlord himself, had realized that two more of their previously loyal teammates had defected from their ranks that night.

* * *

He still hadn't found the opportunity to rest. There was no time so long as Optimus and the others were in a dangerous location. Any moment and they could need a groundbridge back. Ratchet leaned over the keys and listened closely to every comm.

There were two dangerous traitors at their location. Arcee had already separated to chase Airachnid and Ratchet was desperately worried her signal would go offline while he was helpless to stop it. Optimus and the others were confronting Megatron and Starscream was still nowhere to be found.

And Autobot Outpost Omega One was currently populated by twice as many decepticons, or ex-decepticons as it were, than autobots. It made a non-combatant like Ratchet nervous to be the only autobot in such a critically important location. Knock Out would be easy to fight off, but Breakdown?

He could only hope the big mech wouldn't be hostile when he came out of stasis.

And he could only hope the electric bonds on the berth would hold him down if worst came to worst while the team was still not back.

But-

The sound of an engine approaching from the Nevada desert outside grew louder. Ratchet groaned.

But even if he did feel tensed in danger, that didn't mean he had to enjoy the help Optimus had commed in for him.

Ratchet deliberately did not turn away from the screens when the engines stopped and the sound of transformation occurred behind him.

"'boss said you needed back up," the drawl came from the road in and out of the base rather than the groundbridge.

And he himself felt in need of another autobot to keep watch on the 'guests', but that did not make this any easier.

"Ye-es, well," he protested, "Optimus has exaggerated. I do not need 'back up'. I will do just fine while I wait for them to return."

Even though he couldn't see it, Ratchet could tell Wheeljack had shrugged.

"Whatever you say, doc."

The medic bristled up at the nickname.

The comms lit up again with Optimus calling for Arcee to report and to Ratchet's relief, the femme responded back alive and well.

They would return again and then he wouldn't have to feel so threatened in his own bas-

"Doc..."

Something in Wheeljack's tone made Ratchet go cold. He finally turned to look at the small wrecker.

But Wheeljack wasn't looking back. His attention was all in front of him; the wrecker had walked to Ratchet's medbay and started to enter (without his permission too).

Oh. Had Optimus not been clear about what Ratchet needed back up with?

Wheeljack continued his question slowly. "What in the Pit is goin' on in here?"

He supposed he would need to offer the wrecker explanations immediately. Ratchet looked up towards the ceiling in long suffering patience. Why did Optimus have to leave him with jobs like this?

* * *

_AN- Megatron is going to be losing his mind over how many of his officers suddenly decided to bail on him._


	5. Clearly, Things Aren't Right

The decepticons begin to realize something is wrong when their medic is nowhere to be found on board the Nemesis.  
Meantime, Knock Out feels increasingly helpless being cooped up while his partner is in the care of another medic.

_AN- The autobots are not back in this chapter because they are scouring the area of the makeshift arena for signs of Airachnid, more insecticons, and Starscream._

* * *

Pounding his fists into the door seemed like A) a poor idea when he wanted to get into the autobots good sides and B) a perfect plan to get attention.

The latter won out.

Knock Out hit his cuffed servos against the wall instead of the door (the wall seemed less likely to give out from a cybertronian's force). The deja vu hit him hard.

So here he was again: locked up by autobots, cuffed and without company, and now being as annoying as he risked being to get one of them to come by.

Talking filtered down the hall from the other room. Then pedesteps started down towards his room.

Knock Out stopped pounding. There was a fine line between the right amounts of endearing annoyance and getting yourself shot for being a nuisance.

The mech that did show up outside the door was unexpected. The medic took a quick double take.

"Wheeljack?" he asked incredulously. The wrecker hadn't been there when the 'bots had come for him and Breakdown; nor had he been in the room with Ratchet when they'd carried Breakdown through the bridge and away from Knock Out.

The wrecker frowned a bit, though it didn't seem to be from anger.

"You know me?" Wheeljack furrowed his brows together.

Knock Out uncharacteristically clammed up.

They didn't much speak after that.

But at the least, the wrecker fell victim to his pleading for the door to be opened.

It wasn't much like the medic could leave so long as Wheeljack stood right outside with swords ready to be grabbed at any trouble.

* * *

Megatron and Dreadwing transformed as soon as they flew over the _Nemesis_'s flight deck. The bulky seeker immediately went to his leader's side, reached to support the injured warlord. The bigger mech allowed Dreadwing to take a wing and lead him towards the doorway. Everything ached. To think one insecticon almost brought his story down. An anticlimactic end coming after a battle with an inferior life form instead of with the only mech to meet his might.

It would have been unthinkable.

But, in truly empirical decepticon style, Dreadwing had disobeyed his orders.

Megatron made him the new first lieutenant on the flight back.

Only time would tell if he would be any better at it than Airachnid. There was little doubt he couldn't compare to Starscream, but Megatron had faith Dreadwing would still do admirably.

Blue and black leaked down to the floors of the _Nemesis_. Dreadwing kept himself under his master's weight diligently. Drones looked away when they came near.

They took the lift down to the floor with the medbay. The seeker under him pulled away to reach for the door controls and open them. Doors slid aside; the medbay lay empty beyond.

Neither spoke as they moved into the room. Megatron took it upon himself to separate from his new 2IC and sit on one free berth.

"I'll get the doctor," Dreadwing said needlessly and moved to enter the second medical room. While Megatron let himself think of the latest cycle and what having two traitors rooming on the planet would mean to the cause, the seeker returned. Dreadwing's face was twisted in concern.

"Excuse me, my lord. Knock Out is not currently here," he apologized.

"Well, get him!" the other said without enough ire to signal incoming danger. The seeker bowed and left. Megatron returned to considering the latest events. Optimus had gotten more ruthless; whether his brief return to Orion Pax was what triggered this change or the rise of Unicron, he was unable to know. Without those factors, it seemed likely their status quo would have remained static. Starscream was still loose and Soundwave had been unable to track his whereabouts; as predictable as his latest coup attempts had become, the renegade seeker vanishing was undeniably dangerous. Without the ability to track his movements and see him coming, Megatron felt on edge for when, where, and _how_ Starscream would attack next. And now there was Airachnid to deal with; she'd left his ranks and taken one of his strongest mechs with him. Strongest in brute force at least; mentally, he was a relatively useless (though undeniably loyal simply because Breakdown wouldn't bother to question his lord) asset. On her own, he hardly considered her a threat. No doubt she'd go kill some humans but he doubted she would kill enough to bring their attention out of the fear she would end up rather like Breakdown had. With another insecticon, the deserter was a bigger threat. Insecticons, other than their scouts or queens, did not travel alone. Where one was, more lay. And Airachnid was an insecticon queen; though she had never bothered with attaining a hive before, Megatron did not trust what she would do with one here on Earth.

Any more musings were interrupted when Dreadwing returned. Like a second shadow, Soundwave slipped into the room as well.

If Dreadwing had looked concerned before, his expression was far more worried now. As much as he didn't want it to, Megatron felt himself grow apprehensive.

"I am sorry, my lord," the seeker began, "It appears Knock Out has left the ship."

What.

Megatron turned to Soundwave. The silent mech's visor alit with video footage: Knock Out in his office, jerking down oddly until his helm hit the desk. Knock Out marching to groundbridge controls and ordering a drone to let him go to the location Dreadwing, Breakdown and Airachnid had been sent.

Nothing more.

Soundwave had no footage of those woods only Dreadwing had returned from. They had only the seeker's words to go by: that he had broke free and found the place where Breakdown died. The evidence lay in the puddles of energon and fluids, the bolts and peeled bits of metal laying about, the screams he had heard from where he was stuck.

Now, the seeker looked guilty.

"It...I thought it was a malfunction. A glitch in my auditory processing. The additional voices, the unexplained noises; I believed I was hearing things. Between the stress of being trapped while my comrade died and the result of my split spark passing-" Dreadwing lowered his head, "-my senses have become questionable at times."

In other words, he had failed to add what had truly happened in his report to the Nemesis.

Megatron growled. His fists clenched atop the berth.

"So my doctor has disappeared," he hissed, "And my first lieutenant has withheld information in order to hide his disability."

And Soundwave had no answers.

He would have slid from the berth in his growing anger, but the waving dizziness in his processor forced him to stay still.

"Is there any reason Knock Out has left the ship?" Megatron asked instead of moving.

Really, he expected an answer in the form of voice clips or captured footage to answer him. The silence from Soundwave sparked the first hints of real dread inside the warlord.

Something was very, very off. And his eyes and ears was just as blind as he was about it.

Without information or even coordinates, they weren't exactly able to find out answers. He would send a team down to the location of Breakdown's 'death' to discover more signs of the big mech and rule out his survival. Perhaps he should send Soundwave as well; his spymaster could find more than mere drones could when it came to unravelling mysteries like this.

That was all very well, but he couldn't do it yet. First, Megatron wanted his cuts welded and torn energon lines mended. If Knock Out and his nurse weren't here to do it, he would cauterize himself. But he would be very, _very angry_ to have to resort to the survival tricks living in the pits had given him.

"My lord," Dreadwing started, although his voice had lost much of its prideful confidence.

"What?" Megatron snapped. The seeker flinched. His second shadow watched unmoving.

"You still require medical care. We do not know when Knock Out will return; we do not even know that he is alive to return at all. Who else might I call to see to your injuries?"

* * *

Knock Out paced. When he reached the end of his walk space, he turned and paced the other way.

Since his walk space happened to be his 'room' aka padded cell, he had lost track of how many times he'd done a full circuit.

It was probably up in the hundreds by now.

Outside the room, Wheeljack let his face drop into his servos with a clang.

Knock Out ignored him.

"Where is everybody?" he finally grew too bored (or anxious, though he was loathe to say it was that emotion driving him) to stay silent. The wrecker looked up from his servos.

"Why would you care? You want to know when the coast is clear to make your escape or somethin'?"

This time, it was Knock Out who looked over. He glared like death itself at the short mech.

"Noo," the medic drew out in a voice that suggested he thought the wrecker was an idiot.

Although, in fairness, he did think that a bit.

"But I wish they would hurry it up," Knock Out tugged his arms against the cuffs pointlessly, the only outlet for frustration he had other than pacing. Wheeljack sneered.

"Well, ain't you entitled," he grumbled.

There was far too much hostile energy around that mech. Knock Out did not much like being in close proximity to one so obviously distrustful of him.

Which would be...just about everybody here so far. But whether they trusted his intentions or not, they'd given him aid. Ratchet had saved Breakdown.

Hadn't he? Knock Out _didn't get to know, did he-_ stuck cooped up in some little room, no updates on his partner, no news about the recovery-

The medic growled and recommenced tugging his restraints with more ire. Wheeljack tensed and his servos flinched towards his sword hilts, though no more than a few earth inches perhaps. His face had curled into a frown again.

"...what's eatin' you?"

Well then. Knock Out had gone dead still. His red optics were glued to Wheeljack's scarred face.

He hadn't expected Wheeljack to do anything more than 'guard' him.

"You won't let me step out of this room, will you?" Knock Out asked rhetorically. The wrecker, as expected, shook his head.

"That's what then!" the medic snapped. "Until the others get back, I don't get to be 'escorted' out of here!"

Wheeljack opened his mouth to say something, likely less than kind, but Knock Out spoke on without pausing for the other.

"I'm a medic! I should be out there, by Breakdown, helping keep him online-" _-this time_ went unsaid and Wheeljack had no way of knowing it had been thought.

"I shouldn't be trapped here, itching and useless, while I-while I-"

The complaints sputtered to a stop. With a growl of frustration, Knock Out lifted up his cuffed hands and carved his claws down the wall. It was a gesture he'd picked up in replacement to the common act of scratching one's own face (that was absolutely taboo to him, of course).

The screeching petered off and Knock Out let his servos drop down again. His head replaced them on the cold wall.

This had gotten far too awkward. And when it came to securing allies, Knock Out had prioritized getting Prime's trust first. With Optimus's approval, the rest would follow. No more of this humiliating 'babysitting'.

All of which required Breakdown to also follow suit in trying to secure Optimus's favor.

Which in turn required Breakdown to live.

And Knock Out was unable to check on the process of that plan so long as he was stuck in here.

"Hey."

The medic turned his head while still resting it against the cold stone wall to look at the wrecker. Wheeljack hardly looked sympathetic, but his expression was far from hostile.

"I don' trust you and whatever game you're playin' here," Wheeljack continued with his lazy drawl. "And I rather don' like your pal in the other room. But."

Blue optics looked away from him to stare down the hall. The wrecker moved to cross his arms; an action that put his servos even further from his sword hilts than before.

"Listen. He's in good servos. The best."

Wheeljack still didn't face him, but his tone was strong and steady: "If any medic could save him from ev'rythin' that spider did, it's Ratchet."

Such a bold proclamation did leave Knock Out a bit bristled in offense. After all, saying Ratchet was the best medic did automatically make that number 1 spot impossible for him to sit in.

That aside? ...Knock Out thought he was a bit touched.

The silence felt far too sappy to handle this time round. It almost seemed like Wheeljack noticed it too, since he cleared his intakes and changed subjects.

"The rules were what again?" the wrecker asked. "No leaving here without supervision?"

Knock Out rolled his optics.

"Yes, yes, what-"

There was a noise as Wheeljack stepped away from the wall. His servos dropped to his swords and picked them up. The self-preserving part of his conscious that sounded too much like Starscream for comfort demanded he back away for safety. But before he could do, or say, anything more embarrassing, Wheeljack had slid his weapons into their seathes on his back. The wrecker waited a moment before he sighed impatiently.

"Well? 'thought you wanted to see the medbay."

"Bu-b-but I-"

"But what?" Wheeljack cut him off. "Don' think I'm 'supervision' enough?"

Knock Out decided not to comment on that; not if keeping any taunts to himself meant getting to finally relieve his anxiety with a sight of his still living partner.

* * *

The drone stepped into the medbay with a quiet typical of the miner class. The leader, first lieutenant, and third in command of the decepticon army all kept a close optic on him. Just one alone would have been intimidating enough, but each of them together?

Dreadwing gave a small wave in his direction.

"This is XL-2M99. He has volunteered as a medical assistant in our doctor's absence," the seeker announced. Seated on the edge of the berth, Megatron looked the drone over. XL-2M99 had his face turned down. Ah, good; fearful respect.

"Is that so?" the warlord asked. It was the same manner of questioning that had led more than one mech to crash their own systems before he could get his own servos on them.

"You are a miner class," Megatron continued, "What experience could a miner have with medicine?"

It took the newcomer a moment to find a response. The drone kept his head down as he spoke. "I was berthridden a few orns ago. I took careful note of what I saw of the other patients. Nurse Breakdown obliged my curiosity with rudimentary basics of aid."

Sharp fangs flashed when the warlord curled his mouth into a sinister smile.

"A miner stepping out of his class," he murmured in amusement (which, since it came from Megatron, made all others tense). "Alright then."

Dreadwing hardly seemed convinced.

"Almost all of us have spent time in a medbay," the seeker said, "How does one visit give you more experience with medics than any of the rest of us?"

XL-2M99 brought his face up to stare at the blue mech. Though it had been repaired, warped metal served as scarring over a portion of his faceplate.

"I am well familiar with medics," the drone replied.

* * *

_AN- Brownie points to anyone who remembers the miner drone and the episode he came from_

_Also Breakdown should finally be up and talking next chapter_


	6. My Favorite, Your Favorite

Breakdown wakes up.

_AN- First section occurs in the past. Velicitron is the name of the colony that IDW Knock Out hails from._

* * *

Smoke rose in spirals all over the landscape. Buildings had collapsed down to nothing but rubble. Gray corpses littered the metal ground, fresh for looting.

It had been a colony. Now it was wreckage. A once rich city brought down to the trashed state of so many slums these inhabitants stood over.

Ironically, a disputable oil house still stood among the ruins. While almost every other remnant of the high class had been destroyed, this homely ghetto place had remained. It had been quickly confiscated by the decepticons. Energon was raided from the storage and a constructicon had taken it upon himself to play bartender for the evening. Spirits were high.

Knock Out had bought a cube of high grade for himself and a few stacks of beryllium flavored rust sticks for his partner. He would steal the money back the next cycle, but for now they all played at domestic life.

They had grabbed one overturned table and Breakdown had pulled it upright in the center of the bar. The big guy was glancing around the room until Knock Out returned with his armful. The red mech dumped everything onto their table and Breakdown grinned.

"My favorites," he chuckled, "How'd ya know?"

That made the medic give a knowing smirk. He reached over the table and snagged one of the sticks from Breakdown's clean servos. Clean, because while all the others in here still wore the dust and fuels of battle, Knock Out had made the both of them clean up before heading here. They had a reputation to hold up, after all. The rest of the cons in this unit could be uncouth messes, but Knock Out would never let his beauty or reputation be tarnished; and since Breakdown was with him to stay, the big mech had to do the same.

The servos were bigger than his. Knock Out recalled that they hadn't always been. Breakdown had never been delicate, but he had been modding himself since the start of the war. The red mech himself had helped with most of those mods; he knew his way around a cybertronian body and its potential alterations. That knowledge helped him know exactly what to cut from corpses or how to fix up a wounded con, many times with the very parts he had looted from the dead. It had taken a bit of time and patience, but Breakdown had learned the basics from him.

He advertised his partner as a nurse and he himself as a surgeon. Most of the mechs he practised on had no idea that he did not hold that official title and that his 'nurse' had gone to even less medical schooling than he had.

What did that matter? Knock Out could do a splendid job. He could rip things apart with ease and could remedy most maladious situations. And Breakdown? _He had been taught by the best,_ _had he not?_ If anyone made fun of his partner, they would answer to Knock Out.

The two partners toasted energon and drank in the loud gathering of decepticons. The smoking colony outside rang with the noises of celebration.

If the colony resembled Velicitron, well. Knock Out had no time to think about that.

And if beryllium flavored rust sticks were in fact the medics favorites rather than the bigger mech's?

He hardly needed to bother registering that either.

* * *

The medbay of Autobot Outpost Omega One was...absolutely atrocious.

For one, it was built and operated with human technology. For another, it was at least a fifth of the size of his medbay in the Nemesis.

Again, he had to mentally reiterate: how did the autobots in this junkheap of a base ever beat the warship?

Trying to ignore the clutter and how cramped he was trying to get near Breakdown's side, Knock Out leaned over his nurse. Fresh welds looked back at him. To indulge his curiosity, Knock Out tried to look at the equipment readings and the welds themselves.

"You used a dialysis patch for the venom?" he spoke aloud. Ratchet was on the other side of the partition to man the groundbridge. Wheeljack was standing near the entrance to the 'medbay' (if it even deserved to be called such) and seemed to have zoned out on everything Knock Out said.

The other medic made a noise of affirmation. Knock Out continued his investigation.

"What about the clevis's on the right shoulder? Are these human engineered?"

Ratchet gave another grunt. The younger medic straightened up and scooted gingerly past all the tech lining the partition. There was barely room between the wall, with its machinery, and the berth itself. When he made it past the berth, Knock Out moved to exit the medbay entirely. Like a shadow, Wheeljack followed him closely.

The rest of the autobots still had not returned but it seemed whatever fights had happened were over. Ratchet seemed tired but calm as he waited by groundbridge controls. The bulkier medic turned and positioned himself to block all controls. Knock Out had to resist sighing at the needless dramatics.

"For having the subpar equipment you have in there," he pointed (with both servos since they were still rather attached to each other under the cuffs) behind himself at the medbay, "The repairs look adequate. More than adequate. Erm. What I mean to say is-"

This area of his plan actually seemed rather well thought out. Knock Out had decided to offer the rarer, more vital, services he had to the autobot cause; it seemed more likely they would accept medic rather than another fighter.

"Much of my technical medical knowledge came from-" _you_ "-a seasoned doctor; it's only because of him that I could even recognize some of the techniques you used on my partner. I would-"

That's it; not too slow, not too demanding.

"That is to say, I can help. In the medbay. Be a...junior medic," he mumbled the unsavory term out. "I think you could...teach me a lot. And having a second medic would be helpful!"

Alright, _now_ he had been talking too long. The others hadn't reacted or said anything so he'd just gone on and on to fill the silence and now?

"Just think about it," he offered a sleazy smile more apt to Swindle than himself and then retreated back to the medbay to sit besides the silent Breakdown.

* * *

His chronometer told him that a full earth day had passed. As the previous day had made him suspect, Knock Out did not get energon. It made him feel a little better to notice that none of the others had either.

Well, this lack of luxury would take some getting used to.

Later, that is. At the moment, he had more pressing concerns.

"Hey con."

It was Arcee, who had moved to lean against the wall after opening the door.

"You work out a solution to that little problem of yours?" she asked casually.

The casual air was oh so very welcome. After all the stress of the last cycle in the past, hearing her sound a little more like his normal interactions with Arcee made him feel like picking her up in a big ol' hug. The medic determined that would probably end with her gutting him and decided against it.

"...no?" he answered. True, he had thought quite a bit about what he would say to his partner. But people were unpredictable. He didn't know how Breakdown would react. He could just force the mech to do what Knock Out himself wanted; that wasn't who he was trying to be anymore.

"Hmm. Well, that's bad news."

"How so?" Knock Out asked.

"Ratchet's about to bring him out of stasis," Arcee waved the medic forward. "We figured you should be the first face he sees."

Bring out..about to bring him out...

Oh Primus. He was about to see Breakdown again. He was about to hear his voice and see his expressions and-and-Breakdown was about to be very much not dead and-

Knock Out took a moment to break free of his shock. The entire venture to return to the past and save Breakdown had never felt more real than it did after her sentence.

Glee and relief and ecstasy mixed and fought with worry over his little 'flaw'. Knock Out tried to ignore the pessimism and followed the two-wheeler to the medbay wordlessly.

Optimus Prime stood nearby. Bumblebee seemed to be working on something in the corner of the room. Bulkhead and Wheeljack were nowhere to be seen.

The monitors blinked and beeped. Ratchet cancelled all controls keeping his patient in stasis. The bonds on the berth and energon lines fueling the still deprived Breakdown remained.

His spark felt like it was jumping in his chassis. The spiking pulses were nigh painful. Knock Out padded forward quietly and reached the foot of the berth. Then he turned to look at Prime wordlessly.

The autobots were really doing it. They were really bringing a con who one of their ranks hated back to the world of the living.

Autobots were stupid. Knock Out had never felt more inspired to loyalty.

"If you would like some privacy, we will step back," Optimus offered patiently. "But we can not let you both out of sight. It is precaution."

At least they weren't 100% stupid. Knock Out nodded, still a bit shellshocked. He hardly noticed when Ratchet pushed by him and the bots made their way to the offline groundbridge so that he could speak in private.

Breakdown shifted on the berth. The big guy groaned and Knock Out immediately rushed to the berthside. He knelt down by the head of the bed, knocking a few pieces of equipment down to the ground in the process.

"Breakdown." The mech rumbled and his optic opened just a slit. "Breakdown!"

The slow awakening turned into frenetic alertness the moment Breakdown found he couldn't move his arms or legs. It occured to Knock Out that the last time his partner had awoke to restraints had been the whole M.E.C.H. incident.

Hrm, he really should have realized that earlier. But for now he would just need to make due with recovering the situation.

"Breakdown!" he said again, a little louder. "It's alright! It's me. It's me. You're perfectly safe."

_No fleshlings around to vivisect you this time._

Breakdown stopped struggling and his head turned sideways to see the crouching mech.

"E...Knock Out?"

_Oh Primus._ It was his voice. It was _Breakdown's_ voice, not the human who'd wore his body last time Knock Out had seen it.

"Yes!" the medic leaned forward and grabbed the side of the berth.

Breakdown gave a halfhearted, but still dopey, smile.

"You, uh. I take it Dreadwing got me?"

Here it came. Knock Out steeled himself.

"Well, no, not exactly," he started.

The yellow optic moved away from his porcelain face to look around the room. The decidedly _not_ decepticon purple room.

"This isn't the _Nemesis_..." the other said slowly. He moved his head back to look at the medic. "Knock Out. Where are we?"

Should he say it all in one go? Or should he sugarcoat it a bit? Knock Out debated internally a moment before he started to answer.

"We're...not at the _Nemesis_. I might have, sort of, well, defected. We're autobots now. This is their base."

There was a stark silence. Breakdown's face had froze. His one optic widened. Knock Out was about to fill the quiet, but his partner spoke up first.

"_What_."


	7. Am I Coming Out Of Left Field

Breakdown has some big decisions to make and little time to make them.

_AN- And both the wrecker boys are having a bit of a hard time swallowing the defecting cons, but both also know better than to scare off a tactical advantage (looking at you, Arcee 😒 )_

* * *

The plateau was far enough from human civilization that Bulkhead decided not to worry about being seen in root mode. He sat over the edge of the outcropping and waved his pedes in the free air. His servos occasionally pushed forward and knocked rocks and dust off the cliffside.

Wheeljack sat at his side, similarly quiet.

Both looked out over the desert of Nevada. The clouds in the sky had taken on a yellow tone from the low sun.

"You gonna be alright?" Wheeljack asked the other wrecker. Bulkhead huffed and shoved more rocks off. They crashed against the cliffside and joined the dusty ground below.

"I don't like this," the green mech admitted.

Not that it was much of a secret. They both knew why they were out here instead of indoors.

"Don' think you have to, Bulk," the smaller said. The other wrecker grunted again.

More rocks were pushed to their doom. Both friends went silent.

"It's driving me up the wall," Bulkhead spoke up. His servos clenched in the dirt and sand before shoving the pebbles forward again. "I know what I should hope for. I know what Optimus hopes for. And I knew this was an option back when we all went off to the Kamchatka Peninsula to get him out of M.E.C.H.'s hands."

There was a 'but' in there. Wheeljack stayed silent until it arrived.

"But as much as I know this could be a big advantage in the war here, I can't stand the idea of the gruesome twosome sticking around for keeps. I can't stand the thought of-of-driving Miko to base from school and running into him. I'll just think of Brawn and Sideways and Altus and Miko will run around in constant danger without ever realizing it."

The names made Wheeljack frown and clench his own servos tight. Their deaths weighed on him just like they evidently still weighed on Bulkhead. Every wrecker Wheeljack had lost came like a blow.

"I'm sure the boss'll never let her get hurt," he tried to reassure. It just made Bulkhead groan and lay his face in his servos.

"But she'll always be in danger. Even after the Stunticons fell apart, Breakdown was still killing bots without being stopped. If we all just accept him defecting, I'll always have to feel like he won. Like he got away with all the friends and allies deaths he caused. And feel like you and Miko could join his list without me being able to stop it."

Wheeljack lifted a servo and set it on Bulkhead's back. He rubbed in absent minded comfort.

"I'll always see their faces when I see him too," the smaller wrecker swore. "I'll never forget or forgive either. And you don' have to worry about Miko; I'll keep her from gettin' into danger from those two."

It was only slightly comforting. But there was only so much that could be said or done.

If Dreadwing had come to Earth after murdering Seaspray and offered to defect, Wheeljack couldn't say he wouldn't have done something rash. He was often rash, after all. It would have peeled his plating to no end to watch the autobots accept a murderer.

But they were outnumbered and outgunned. They had only one medic and barely enough equipment to qualify as a medbay. Their energon supplies were low. The _Nemesis_ had a multitude of mines. It had armies of drones. The decepticons undoubtedly held the upper servo. It would have been incredibly stupid of them to turn down two new allies while depriving the _Nemesis_ of two of its officers.

Didn't make it easier to swallow. He knew it. He knew how Bulkhead was eating himself up inside.

The wrecker kept a stabilizing arm on the big mech's back. They waited in the empty desert air.

They waited for the call to come in from base telling them to return for the news.

* * *

They tore across the metal road. Behind them: another disastrous battle. In front: the unknown.

Unknown in so many ways.

The war was chaos. Cybertron was ruined. There was little even left to be fighting over but still the fights went on.

At this point, he wasn't sure what they'd do if the fighting stopped. Would his record stick him in some sort of prison? Would he have to play nice with a plastered smile and never a sign revealed about what sort of person he was?

That didn't sound all that appealing. Endless war didn't either.

So they'd search for the limbo between.

The adventure. The sights. Everything illegal that a peacetime would prevent them from.

_«Should we regroup with the others?»_ Breakdown commed.

Which ones? The various decepticon patrols fleeing from the failed battle? The warships leaving for the edges of the cosmos?

_«We could. Or we could leave on our own.»_ Knock Out radioed back.

_«Go neutral?»_ his partner asked with only slight edges of surprise.

_«We've talked about that»_ the medic scoffed. _«Not yet. The decepticons give us freedom to do whatever we want. Let's stay with them and that freedom; among which is our freedom to leave this party whenever it serves our best interest to do so»_

They both laughed. Knock Out's words on the matter closed the question. They'd stick with the cause a little longer; even if they wandered galaxies together and away from the war their faction waged on.

Both grounders sped on towards the unknown while the conflict waged on behind.

* * *

"Think about it!" he tried to sound convincing. "You almost died tonight! You almost died when those fleshies got a hold of you. Megatron refused to send any help then and he didn't send any help tonight. The decepticons are putting you in danger without any care for your safety!"

That had to be convincing. It seemed to have convinced Optimus Prime after all.

"But..." Breakdown didn't seem to buy it.

"It was a fast decision, but Airachnid was going to kill you-" Knock Out kept going. "The autobots were the ones to answer my distress call. It's only because of them that you're still with me!"

Almost a total lie. It was because of Knock Out that Breakdown was still alive tonight. Because he'd taken Brainstorm up on his potentially dangerous science experiment and made the leap towards a faction that, at this point in history, was still very much losing.

Really, he deserved to be giving more credit to himself.

"So...can you just...think about it?" the medic tried for a weak smile. Breakdown looked at it, then up into his optics, and then away towards the concrete ceiling above.

He was quiet. Earth minutes passed.

Evidently the big guy was thinking. That, or attempting to comm the warship. The latter of which would fail; Ratchet had disabled both of the autobot's 'guests' comms and weapon systems.

"I thought we were loyal to lord Megatron."

Hmm, well, loyal was a bit strong of a word. Knock Out was primarily loyal to himself, or at least the Knock Out Breakdown had known was.

Breakdown looked heavily conflicted. His expression had screwed up.

"But when M.E.C.H. had me, it took Starscream disobeying orders and an autobot enemy to get me out in one piece," the big mech frowned thoughtfully.

Knock Out had to resist interrupted, so he stuck with nonvocal nodding of encouragement. This was a good train of thought, yes.

"But..."

So many ifs and buts. Still, if he got a concrete answer the same cycle Breakdown had awoken in, he supposed he was lucky.

"Really?" Breakdown looked back at him with a grimace. "You sure you want to defect and all? _Are you being threatened?_" his voice lowered to a whisper, "_We could always bust our way out and discover the location of the autobot base. Lord Megatron would offer us many honors and protections_."

The early cycles on a reborn Cybertron came to mind. The way his new team had acted and treated him. The words Optimus Prime had offered before joining the Allspark.

"No. This isn't a trick. I'm being honest."

There came that thoughtful frown again.

"So you...you really want to leave the decepticons."

And this time, he was being serious about it. It wasn't one of those fakeout conversations or easily forgotten pro/con arguments.

This was a decision based in multiple solar cycles of thought and experiences.

It was a shame Breakdown had no way of seeing that side of this all.

"I do," Knock Out answered with a single nod.

"If you're sure," Breakdown still looked skeptical. "I'll always follow you."

Oh no, no, no. Of course he would. Breakdown always followed his lead. They always worked together as if they had one mind: Knock Out's mind. Theirs was a smooth and delightful dynamic just perfect for a mech like Knock Out.

But then the dynamic had shattered apart. Breakdown had been killed. He'd mourned the loss of the mech who made him feel so good. Starscream had hardly been a loyal replacement. Then the war had ended and Knock Out had tried to fit seamlessly into the autobots and somewhere inside there-

Everything had fallen apart. He'd been shoved face first against a window that showed a bunch of bots caring about each other. He'd been left wondering about his deceased partner. He'd begun to long for Breakdown just to learn the answers to so many questions.

What were Breakdown's dreams?

What would Breakdown chose to do if given full reign of activity night?

What would, what if, what.

The questions chewed him apart.

They'd made him slowly come to a decision. Weird as it felt, he had to start listening to other mechs. He would only sometimes demand he get his way and other times let them have their way (no matter how stupid or useless their way was).

It was equity.

All that aside?

Knock Out loved how willingly Breakdown would follow his lead.

A dark bit of panic rose inside. Roles could so easily be slipped back into. It would be so easy to simply let this be; Breakdown would follow him and he would join the autobots. Easy, simple. Everyone won. _Why not indulge?_ He had the sudden worry that returning to this time, to this dynamic he missed so much, may work to undo everything peacetime had made him build inside.

"You-you don't have to," Knock Out replied softly. It had to be choked out. Every instinct screamed at him for turning down the easy route Breakdown had offered him. "I mean, this is a big decision I'm making. You should make your own."

The other blinked.

"There aren't a whole lot of choices for me," Breakdown returned.

Well, scrap, there really weren't.

"They're autobots," the medic shrugged, "They're soft and sappy. If you asked them to let you go, they probably would."

"Without you? _Never_."

Knock Out filled with that same possessive affection again.

"But as much as your points make sense...I don't know. We've spent vorns fighting autobots. I don't want to join them. If we're going to leave, can't we go neutral?" the big mech asked.

Both mechs fell into a familiar song and dance. They'd almost gone neutral a dozen times after all.

And the autobots outside the medbay waited as the minutes dragged on and both of the defectors tried to convince the other that going autobot/going neutral was the better option.

* * *

The two wreckers drove into base uncharacteristically quietly. Both transformed and looked at the rest of the autobots.

There was a short silence.

"Well?" Bulkhead broke it. "What's it gonna be?"

He had been tense all day. Now, he just felt drained about it all. He'd rather get on with it than have to sit pretending he wasn't still thinking about it all.

Optimus stepped forward and demanded all attention with sheer presence.

"The decepticon Knock Out desires to defect. Although it is too early to say, I believe his intentions are genuine. He will be kept in a probationary state. Ratchet will be using his occasional help in the medical bay," the Prime explained.

Bulkhead was clenching his servos in apprehensive waiting again; he hardly noticed the action. Judging by how Wheeljack had gotten closer to him, the other wrecker had seen his reaction.

"His partner Breakdown has decided-"

The green wrecker shut his optics.

_Here it goes._

"-to go neutral."

Bulkhead's vision shot open. What? That was not what Knock Out's little embedded message had said.

"However, he wishes to remain with the doctor. Knock Out will not cooperate unless they are left together. Our new neutral accomplice will remain in the assigned room with Knock Out unless otherwise supervised. Our human charges should not, under any circumstances, be left alone with either."

Optimus let out a sigh. "As unlikely as this seems, both of these former decepticons are capable of decision making and change. For the sake of ending this long war, we must hope their intentions are genuine."

The Prime looked over each of his autobots, lingering on none of them longer than the others, as he finished.

"No matter how difficult or even painful it is to adjust to this change."

* * *

_AN- In the show, Breakdown seems more loyal to the decepticons than Knock Out. KO seems to follow the faction because they have the best chance of winning and also let him live in comfort doing almost anything he wants. BD on the other hand always seems eager to impress Megatron and seems pretty antiautobot (despite having many traits the bots also have). That said, the both of them aren't on the Nemesis until Starscream calls them up and seem to act rather independent of the faction. Hence why here they consider doing neutral in the past and Breakdown finds it easier to stomach than joining the bots. Because KO is coming from a future where he had gotten loyal enough to the Autobots to land himself on a blacklist for supporting Optimus, he is acting a bit uncharacteristically (from Breakdowns point of view) determined to identify as an Autobot._


	8. An Interlude From Danger

Everyone, from those on the Nemesis to the awkward inhabitants of Autobot Outpost Omega One, tries to adjust.

_AN- In other news, the nurses meet each other and Knock Out confuses everyone with his volatile behavior_

_Remind me to never try to write cybertronian medical nonsense again XD_

* * *

The medbay of the _Nemesis_ was quiet. XL-2M99 worked on the only patient without chatting.

Soundwave could appreciate the silence.

The communications officer was watching the temporary medic, though the drone had no way of seeing him. He viewed the room and its inhabitants through the cameras in the ceiling corners. Soundwave watched it and every camera on the _Nemesis_. He always knew what occurred on this ship and what words passed between soldiers.

So it disturbed him that he did not have optics on two of their members.

It disturbed him that both disappeared seemingly without a trace. Breakdown's energon and fuels and scraps of metal were found at the scene in the forest; but other than those remains, no sign of him or Knock Out could be found in the woods.

Instead of knowing any answers about them, Soundwave was even more dutiful in watching the ship's cameras and global surveillance. Laserbeak was flying near the last sight of their missing medics but had not yet reported any news in. Soundwave dreaded that no news would come.

He dreaded that something major had occurred and he had never seen it coming, nor could he spy on it now.

The vehicon stood from the berth, feeling over the weld on his arm. XL-2M99 led him out of the room and then was left alone in the medbay. Just like he had every other time, the drone went for a datapad and leaned over a table to read it. Soundwave could see exactly what passed on the screen every time a claw moved over it.

Research. Manuals. Examples.

Nothing remotely dangerous or treasonous there. But the communications officer had to hope that all XL-2M99's medical research would be needless; that the experienced medic and his nurse would return to the _Nemesis_ from wherever they had disappeared to.

It wasn't that the drone had done a bad job so far. It was merely the fear that he had slipped up somehow and his failure to catch sight of their missing mechs would in turn hurt Lord Megatron.

Soundwave increased global surveillance for any signs of their vanished medic.

* * *

Now, Breakdown tended to think of himself as a rather laid back mech. Sure, he was easily wound up and loved a good brawl, but he didn't have any of those high and mighty airs of most other decepticon officers.

That said?

He knew he hated this.

The room was small, but that alone wasn't much reason to complain. It certainly seemed too drab for Knock Out to live in it without constant complaints, but the red mech hadn't mentioned it.

Everything about that fact was disconcerting.

Only one berth had managed to fit inside the room. Breakdown had automatically assumed that it would be Knock Out's while he rested in altmode, but the medic insisted they trade off every recharge cycle.

That was also disconcerting.

Knock Out wasn't acting right. That alone wasn't all that strange. He'd gone through multiple phases during their partnership. But this time he had changed overnight.

When Breakdown had told him goodbye and gone off with Dreadwing and Airachnid, Knock Out had been normal. When he had woke up next, the medic seemed like a drastically different mech.

Normally phases had some sort of warning preluding them. This was just plain shocking.

Breakdown just wanted to know why Knock Out had hidden so much from him instead of talking about his apparent desire to desert the cons. Granted, the medic didn't always talk about decisions before making them. Breakdown always accepted what the other decided they would be doing, but there at least tended to be some warning first.

And it wasn't just this sudden 180 concerning factions. Knock Out was acting different too. He wanted to trade off with the comfortable berth, wanted Breakdown to make his own choice regarding deserting, wanted to buddy up with the autobots outside. It was like he had turned into an almost completely different mech overnight.

It was super weird. The big mech was having a hard time wrapping his processor around it.

"Are you going to sit there all day?" Breakdown asked the mech lounging on the berth. It was Knock Out's 'turn' with it and the medic was laying luxuriously on the slab with a datapad in his servos. His assistant, in contrast, was sitting against the wall alternating between looking out the open doorway and looking at the smaller mech on the berth.

Knock Out made a shushing noise. He didn't look away from the pad.

Breakdown groaned and let his head fall against the wall.

"Why are you so interested in all that scrap?" he repeated what he'd been asking for a few cycles now.

"Consider it homework. It's important."

This here? This felt very much like dismissal. Breakdown lifted his head just so he could hit it again.

"You could always read it next," Knock Out glanced over at him. The look Breakdown offered back was very unimpressed. The red mech just shrugged and returned to his 'very important' scrap known as various autobot writings. If he remembered right, todays file was one of the original dated autobot manifestos.

Since when had Knock Out ever been able to stay focused on dusty old history and autobot nonsense?

Breakdown let his head slam one more time before he pushed up from the cluttered ground. Standing made Knock Out look at him again.

"What are you doing?" the medic asked.

That also felt off. Normally, Knock Out didn't bother asking something like that because the medic always figured he knew everything about Breakdown. The big mech had long ago stopped being offended by it.

Or he'd tried to at least.

"Check up," Breakdown answered shortly. There were also sorts of comments related to how Knock Out had seemed to have given up his care to the autobot medic and the like; he resisted any of them. No point in hurting Knock Out's feelings. That was the opposite of what he wanted to do.

Especially while the smaller mech seemed so volatile. He kept alternating between absolutely smothering Breakdown in affection and distantly acting like he was inspired to be an autobot. Both moods seemed pretty alien.

"Be careful-" Knock Out start up. Breakdown waved him off.

The door was kept open; a decision the both of them agreed on. With the way they seemed so out of sync at late, Breakdown was glad at the ease with which they concurred about the door. The room was small enough as was. Keeping the entrance shut only made it feel more cramped.

The 'guard' on duty this cycle was the scout. At least it hadn't been either wrecker so far. Breakdown felt certain that the moment Bulk or his partner took up a position outside the cell, the truce between the autobots of the base and the two defectors in the room would shatter apart.

Bumblebee bristled up when he ducked through the doorway.

"Relax," Breakdown growled at him, "I have to see your medic."

The scout slouched over._ "I was calm,"_ he protested.

_Sure_. Everybody here in this disgusting base was just hunky dory. His one optic rolled behind its monochromatic lens.

Bumblebee followed him closely.

It was busier than it had been before. Prime was nowhere in sight, but Bulkhead was talking to something (someone?) on the catwalk and Wheeljack was in the process of harassing Ratchet. Both wreckers stopped what they were doing when they saw him. Wheeljack hopped off the crates he had been lounging on and went for the green mech; he led the other away, both shooting glares back at the supposed neutral.

Breakdown took their civil retreat as a victory.

Suddenly free of the non-ending chat from Wheeljack, Ratchet noticed him waiting. The medic waved him forward and Breakdown was struck by how very not-Knock Out the old mech was.

It made him uncomfortable. He didn't like having a medic that wasn't Knock Out. He hadn't for vorns.

The berth he had only a few earth days before been cuffed to loomed up at him. Much as Breakdown didn't want to relive memories, he knew the drill.

And besides- whatever faction badge they wore, medics were always peculiar about being obeyed. It was better to just go with it.

As a medical assistant, Breakdown recognized everything Ratchet did. Routine scans, new dialysis patches, injections of low grade, the works. After such drastic injuries and life saving surgeries, he had to put up with this all.

But ugh, even having such basic post surgery check ups felt wrong when it wasn't Knock Out's servos in charge.

Gradually, Breakdown noticed there was a voice he'd never heard speaking somewhere almost above him. He pulled himself back in the moment to focus in on the new addition to a (quickly growing far too old) routine.

"-nom doesn't effect energon after a few we-a decacycle?"

Hmm, it wasn't the two-wheeler femme. Certainly if the autobots had another medic or a nurse on this planet, Soundwave would have noticed by now. Breakdown disobeyed the rule about not moving to lift his head and look around.

"Exactly." Ratchet answered the voice, though he was still seemingly focused on the internal replacements around his left leg.

"And you change them every few hours?" the mystery voice spoke up again.

"Every jour, yes," the old medic said. He was lifting up Breakdown's pede and moving it back and forth to test his pelvic jointing. Really, Breakdown could've done that for him if Ratchet just bothered to ask.

Something entered his vision; a blue and yellow shape moving on the catwalk previously obscured by Ratchet's body. His remaining optic narrowed in on the walkway until the shape became clear.

Ah. A human, then.

Weren't they supposed to be kept away from him?

The alien took an audible sip from the cup in her se-hand and looked at him critically.

The last time he was laying down and a human was looking at him like that, he'd been cut up as a science experience.

"What are you doing now?" the fleshy asked. For a brief moment, he thought she was asking him and it left him flabbergasted.

"Checking joint integrity," Ratchet answered without looking away. Maybe that's why he let a wrecker sit on his crates and talk his head off: hyper focus.

The human made the sipping noise again and then looked up behind her at one of Ratchet's monitors.

"Looks like you had to replace quite a bit of it," she declared and Breakdown realized she actually was trying to read a cybertronian doctor's notes. _The scrap._.? Ratchet grunted in affirmation.

"So when you were putting the limbs back on, did you weld the old metals together again or actually make replacement joints?"

What the scrap indeed. Almost sounded like she was trying to play a doctor too.

Although Breakdown had been in stasis for it, he knew what he and Knock Out would have done in the scenario. "You can't just weld the old metals together," he said from the berth, "Not when some of the old had already been lost. And protoforms don't always accept limb transplants, even from the original limbs."

His pede landed on the berth when Ratchet set it down. The medic moved on to the other leg, but made a humming noise.

"Correct," the older mech confirmed.

Breakdown kept a close optic on the fleshy. She was nodding as if all that made sense, or at least was understandable enough to file for later.

"Not quite how human prosthetics work," the alien spoke aloud. "You'll probably have to show me his before, during, and after scans before I'll really start to get what you mean."

Alright, that was far enough. He was too curious to let that pass up.

"What are you, some kind of fleshy doctor?" Breakdown sneered up at the human. To his surprise, she smiled thinly at him instead of flinching back.

"A nurse, not a doctor," she told him.

Well, he supposed every alien species needed their own medicine.

"And that nurse has a name, just like you." Ratchet scolded him. He heard the hidden message. Unless he wanted to be called an alien or robot or some other squishy term for cybertronians, he couldn't go around calling humans fleshies.

It wouldn't be too hard to deal with that.

"Fine." Breakdown conceded.

The human smiled again, though this time it showed dentae.

"That is nurse Darby," the autobot continued. "Nurse Darby, this is my current patient Breakdown."

He _should_ have been Knock Out's patient. They should have both been on the _Nemesis_ and never have had to interact with any squishies.

"Nice to meet you," the human nurse said clinically. "I hear you're a nurse as well."

Although, he supposed, if he had to be surrounded by autobots and playing nice with humans, this one was far less disgusting (and regretfully terrifying) than M.E.C.H.'s faceless butchers and Silas's taunting.

* * *

Optimus watched the struggle that had overtaken his base. There was the fact that only one of the trio had 'curbside duty' as Bulkhead would call it. This evening it would be Arcee's turn. Tomorrow would be Bumblebee's.

They simply couldn't afford to lose three of their members on Earth nights anymore. Not until Knock Out proved trustworthy and Breakdown no longer registered as a threat.

It would be slow going. As enthusiastic as the decepticon CMO had been when they had first talked, the medic had simply lost much of his momentum. He still pressed to be entered into the Autobot faction, reminding Optimus many times about a potential badge ceremony (something that surprised him; he had never once seen Knock Out with the decepticon badge), but he also seemed to be held back.

The only answer was that he felt held back by his partner. It seemed that so long as Breakdown refused to consider being an autobot, Knock Out would stand with one pede on both sides; a war between the pressure tugging him towards neutral non-faction alignment with his partner and the pressure tugging him towards the autobots with an odd passion.

Adjustments were never easy for anyone involved. Optimus knew this. He knew how natural the desire to retreat to familiar ground was.

He also knew how hard this was on his team. He watched how Bulkhead tore himself up when he'd watch the human Miko be wild in her anger over Breakdown's presence; he could see the wrecker wanted to tell her the depth of his rivalry between the other, but kept silent while his human friend treated this situation like an annoying round of a game.

The energon storage closet was lower than ever. Ratchet had used a few of his additional supplies when he operated on Breakdown. The humans were unable to be as comfortable as before in this home away from home.

It was a difficult period of time.

But at the least, energon could be dealt with without having to wait for everyone to finish their adjustment and personal growth. Optimus would need to speak with Knock Out about decepticon mining operations soon.

* * *

Far from Nevada, the sun had already gone down over the forest containing the wreckage of the _Harbinger_. The wilderness was quiet and isolated from human civilization.

No human caught sight of the titan walking over the dry rock formations. None heard the mutterings of an energon deprived cybertronian.

And no surveillance was near to catch a visual of the former decepticon second in command.

Without any human eye witnesses, there were no panicked individuals reporting the sight to human government; a report that would eventually circle around to agent William Fowler and the autobots in his company. Without visual surveillance, the decepticons of the _Nemesis_ were unable to know that the crashed ship was about to have a visitor.

So the renegade Starscream, swearing destruction down on all his enemies (in others words: everyone at current), was able to make his way on foot to derelict decepticon technology without ever being noticed.


	9. Crouching Tiger

In the wake of an attack by M.E.C.H., Ratchet must make decisions regarding the probation of both defectors.

* * *

William Fowler was having a very good day.

First, he had gone to a board meeting and discussed recent successes. Then he had treated himself to a dinner out at a restaurant he normally wouldn't try affording.

Just for the occasion (occasion being: a good close to a good day), he had ordered a dry chianti and a slice of pecan pie that reminded him of his grandma's old cooking.

For one day, he didn't have to worry at all about aliens making a mess of things. For one day, he wasn't spending time thinking (and worrying) about the kids that should be living oblivious high school lives instead of...'consulting'. For one day, he didn't have to hear constant updates from Prime about the fragile situation at the autobot base.

A few hours after eating and he had gone to the late night seminar at the military base outside the Ochoco National Forest. And the contented feelings of happiness lasted even as he drove out of the base and onto the road.

The night was clear and sky was full of stars. The road was empty and he was able to cruise without having to see any cars brake lights glow at the slightest of curves or anyones bright lights inconsiderately shining in his rearview mirror.

It was just him, the stars, and the radio.

He flipped on one of his auto registered stations and started to hum along to Stan Bush's bright tune.

Yes, indeed. An upbeat tune for an upbeat day. And to think he still had a few extra pieces of pie in a styrofoam leftovers box laying on the backseat.

-Ah, shoot. He'd gone complacently contented too soon. The peaceful 'me-time' had been interrupted by some other driver. His lights were reflecting in all three mirrors and growing brighter all the time.

Hot rod idiot. If he wanted to speed at 20:30, let him. The road was clear and the jerk could drive around Fowler and, at the speed he was trying to go, would disappear from sight relatively quick. Then Fowler would have th-

The vehicle behind him accelerated, but made no move to go around. Its grill slammed into the agent's car end and knocked him forward. What the...

"That's no road rage-" he said aloud, trying to catch sight of the car behind him in his rearview mirror.

The lights got closer again and only speeding up himself kept its contact from being debilitating. Fowler slammed down on the accelerator and felt panic growing. It seemed like the car behind him was a big rig and everything; getting hit again could do some serious damage.

And no doubt the other knew it too. This guy was trying to run him off the road.

He looked once again at the rearview mirror as the car shook from another impact. His eyes narrowed as they caught sight of the symbol on the truck's grill.

What he saw was even more confusing than the fact he was being attacked.

By all appearances, it seemed that the autobot Optimus Prime had decided to ruin Fowler's perfectly good day.

* * *

"PRIME!"

The voice was loud and grating and-

Oh, yes, he did recognize it. He'd once heard this voice bickering with its 'not' girlfriend while Knock Out had them both, er, rather occupied.

He peeked out over the top of the medbay partitions to look for the human.

Recently, he had offered up the locations of mines that he knew to Optimus. Unfortunately, being Knock Out, he didn't really have all that many coordinates remembered. More...descriptions. Of the areas. And some of the particularly annoying miners to deal with.

All that aside, the locations he both gave up and that the two of them pieced together from descriptions was nothing to sniff at. In response, he had been offered the beginning steps towards being a...(the title was revolting and disgusting and completely redundant since he'd already trained under Ratchet) _junior_ medic.

Currently that equated to doing drills in the medbay that would have felt redundant even without having done it all in the other timeline.

At the same time, he was able to do this without constant supervision. That was a bit of a defense oversight on their parts, but the base seemed stressed for members and Optimus seemed to believe in him.

Really, if he had been doing this in order to betray the base location to the decepticons, that pride and belief from the Prime would have made him give up the plan. Since he had no plans for such a betrayal, he could bask twice as much in the warm feelings Optimus's compliments gave him. Whenever the big rig was around, Knock Out unconsciously began to work twice as hard to live up to the autobots standards.

All of this meant he was able to be in the medbay at the exact time that the human agent yelled for Optimus.

But he couldn't see any suited human on the catwalk when he peeked over the partition.

That must have meant Fowler was comming in.

"-as a confirmation that he's presently trying to run me off the road!"

Knock Out saw Ratchet groan almost inaudibly.

"Agent Fowler, that hardly seems likely," the medic argued. The human yelled a reply back.

Unseen by the agent and the autobot medic, Knock Out moved back from where he'd been eavesdropping.

The autobot's main human was being attacked by Optimus? Ratchet was right; that didn't seem likely. Knock Out hardly recalled any incident of Prime going wild. Did that mean whatever was happening now was a result of his presence here, defecting with Breakdown? Had all this adjusting caused Optimus to have a psychotic break of some kind?

That seemed even less likely. But since Ratchet had opened a groundbridge for three of the autobots to go aid the humans, it seemed unquestionable that something was up.

That only became inescapably clear when Arcee was carried into the medbay by Bumblebee and Fowler was deposited on the catwalk.

* * *

Ratchet was immensely frustrated.

First, Fowler had called in with the preposterous claim that Optimus was trying to kill him.

Then, the agent had been confirmed to be truthful about it all.

Optimus himself had arrived and didn't blame any of them for tensing up (read: pulling weapons) when he reached behind him into subspace. Fowler may have taken responsibility for their less than trusting actions, but all of them were guilty.

It really bothered him that he, along with the rest, had for one second suspected Optimus.

The next morning, they'd gone to respond to an emergency at Alden Military Base. The place was in the process of being attacked by a mech that looked like, and called himself, Optimus Prime. The image sent to him by the others made him scoff. That double couldn't pass as the real Optimus. The metal was corroded, the optics were orange, the rust levels were worse than most any bot would ever let occur.

It appeared the humans could fall for it though. They had, after all, opened fire on the real Optimus and his fellow autobots.

And here they were trying to help these humans.

The alien's capacity for ungratefulness was very cybertronian.

Fowler got off his comm device and turned to the waiting audience.

"All military personnel are under strict orders to destroy any and all 'bots on sight," he sighed. Ratchet wanted to sigh too.

Various protests rose from the bots and humans of the base. Despite the claims of innocence and proclamation that 'Optimus was framed!' (courtesy of Miko), no one was bringing up the biggest problem here.

Ratchet looked past the frames of protesting autobots and saw the two defectors waiting in the hall entrance. Neither of them seemed to have realized it either. If they had, he felt sure Breakdown would be making himself more noticeable.

Fine. If no one else was going to...

"They actually did it," he spoke aloud and the others went quiet. "Those butchers managed to crack the code."

There was a nano of silence while that was deciphered and then-

As he'd expected, Breakdown growled. Bulkhead and Bumblebee wore looks of horror. Arcee had gone grim. Only Wheeljack seemed confused still.

"M.E.C.H."

He cast a glance at agent Fowler just to be sure his guess seemed on track. The man looked stern; he took it as evidence.

"M.E.C.H. abducted Breakdown-"

Said mech disappeared down the hall; the younger medic looked torn between following and staying to hear what he probably thought of as juicy details.

"-and by all indications deconstructed him from cranial chamber to heel strut."

The one autobot who had been there to witness it nodded.

"I was there," Bulkhead said. And no matter how normal he acted afterwards, Ratchet had a hunch the wrecker was still haunted by what he'd seen in M.E.C.H.'s modus operandi.

The noise of clattering metal and dented walls echoed down the hall.

"And we know that, more recently, they obtained Starscream's T-cog," he continued through the noises Breakdown was causing- "Which they evidently installed in a knockoff of you," Ratchet pointed at Optimus, "Which, in turn, scanned an appropriate vehicle form."

"Fill the tank with energon-"

"And say hello to-" Miko made a wild gesture, "Nemesis Prime."

And this? This was the result of having children in the base.

With the culprits discovered, they began to discuss where M.E.C.H. could be located. Once again, it was Ratchet that found the answer. The humans had no groundbridge.

They had to be near the location Fowler had been attacked and Alden Military Base. Optimus, with Arcee, Bumblebee, and Bulkhead in tow, called out the order to roll out and the team left.

All four humans crowded near Ratchet's workspace while he moved to monitor comms and the groundbridge. Wheeljack moved to stand nearby.

"I want to go help 'em bash this M.E.C.H. group," the wrecker grumbled.

But he couldn't. Ratchet and the humans could not be left alone in the base while Breakdown and Knock Out were here.

And so the frustration continued on. The human military was gunning for the autobots. The comm signals of the team were going dark, Bumblebee dropping off the grid first.

Agent Fowler had asked Ratchet to isolate the frequency of whatever remote link the human Silas was using to control his pale replica of a cybertronian. The medic was doing it, even as the children spoke and the bots of the base acted in various distracting ways.

Adding insult to the injury of this frustrating cycle, he was being tailed by a pest. A good looking, shiny, loud mouth pest.

"Bridge us three through!" the defector was saying. "We can help, I promise."

If he growled, who could blame him? Here he was, trying to focus on comms and stressing as one by one they went silent.

"That would be incredibly mindless of me," Ratchet denied. Near him, Wheeljack was itching to leave; his fidgeting was more than visible. Even the 'neutral' at the base, standing a bit behind the wrecker to watch all this drama, looked restless.

And agent Fowler had his arms crossed and looked like he was planning on saying something too.

Fine then. Everyone could give demands and plead and whine and he'd sit and listen to it all-

Another comm line went silent.

"Arcee, do you read me?" Ratchet asked.

As predicted, no response. _Damn it._

"Come on, let us go!" Knock Out pressed the medic. "You've already got three out of four bots radio silent. Wheeljack can't go help if we're left here. And you want Wheeljack to go help, don't you?"

Ratchet looked like he was wavering on the point.

"Well..."

There had to be more out there that could help convince him. Knock Out sparked with another idea.

"And we haven't even been outside!" he proclaimed, "We have no idea where the base is, so we can't go turn on you."

He was pretty sure that the children had mentioned enough that it would be possible to piece together the Nevada portion of their location. Even so...

"You said it was M.E.C.H?" Breakdown spoke up. Ratchet turned to him impatiently to reply in the affirmative.

The blue mech gave a grim smile. "Then you don't have to worry 'bout me or Knock Out acting up. I want nothin more than to squish those squishies."

Well, that was far from reassuring behavior. But it also was predictable motive. And Optimus's signal seemed to be leaking energon from a fight now; a fight lasting far too long.

"Fine!" Ratchet threw his arms up, "But Wheeljack, it's your head if they betray us-"

The wrecker laughed at him.

"Frequency isolated," he told the rest and moved for the groundbridge.

"Wait-" came a voice from the catwalk.

Again?

"Agent Fowler, did you not hear Optimus's advise against your involv-"

"Look, doc," the human crossed his arms. "I don't plan on dancing with any bots, but there's a human element in play here, and in case you haven't noticed," he pointed at himself and bragged, "I happen to be a highly trained, government-grade human.

Miko said something about it being personal as well. Fantastic. Personal grudges were just such a good reason to let the human put himself in danger.

The signal on screen reported another batch of injuries. Ratchet sighed.

As hard as it was, the fact remained that Optimus needed back up.

But this was hardly ideal back up to offer.

He pulled the groundbridge controls and watched the beta team move out. One reckless ex-wrecker. One untrustworthy neutral. One autobot wanna-be. One aging human.

Ratchet and the three children could only hope they would focus on saving the bots and succeed at that goal.

There wasn't much else they could do from the base but hope.


	10. Exorcising Demons

Fowler leads a team of loose cannons into the fight against Nemesis Prime and the puppetmaster behind the husk.

_AN- Unbeta'd as always, so apologies for any English spelling/grammar errors_

* * *

It was his first time through one of the groundbridges.

Though he really would have to try it a few more times before coming to a conclusion, Fowler felt sure he would always prefer a jet to teleporting. The entire process was disconcerting and nauseating.

None of the bots towering above him seemed to have noticed.

Wheeljack moved out first; slow steps and both arms ending in guns rather than hands. It was standard procedure. The retired ranger could appreciate it. He'd always figured this specific autobot had no respect for standard procedures.

The wrecker straightened up and let both weapons turn back into hands. "Clear."

But judging by the sounds of metal crashing against metal, it wasn't going to be clear when they moved out. Well, the sooner he found Silas, the sooner he could tell the military to back off the good guys here. Time was of the essence.

"Alright," Fowler strode forward, "let's find the man."

"That your plan?" Wheeljack asked him and the human turned to face the giants down. Blue, red, and yellow glowed down at him from meters up in the air. A part of him knew he should feel tiny, but Fowler had gotten pretty used to talking bots the size of Prime down.

"My part of it," the human replied and pointed up at the aliens. "You all are more equipped to fight the metal wig harassing Prime right now."

Sure, he and Wheeljack had hardly interacted in the past. Sure, they didn't tend to interact very smoothly (something to do with the wrecker being a loose canon and Fowler being more than willing to say so).

But the one experienced autobot of the group seemed to smirk at him. It was impossible to tell in this dark lighting.

Standing taller than either of the others, the new guy with the yellow eye looked closer at him. Fowler had to resist stepping back from the scrutiny.

"...I've heard you before. Do I know you?" the big mech asked. Fowler gave a nervous laugh.

"That's impossible," he waved the question off while mentally telling himself off for being so easily rattled while he lied. No, Breakdown didn't know him and he didn't know the mech. But both of them knew the other's voice.

"Quite right-" the flashy one purred and put two hands on his partner. That seemed to distract attention away from Fowler at least.

"I'll be following Ratchet's directions to the frequency that M.E.C.H.'s little doohickey is emitting," the agent said, "You three should go find Prime and help him; don't hesitate dealing with any M.E.C.H. threats in your way."

Which was certainly not what Prime would want, but the big guy wasn't exactly here to call the shots right now. And M.E.C.H. was a threat to the US government; Fowler would be a fool to hold back from dealing with said threat.

"Make sure that you keep your guard up fighting that thing," he warned a crew that likely wouldn't listen to any warnings.

As expected, he heard at least two scoffs.

"Why's that?" Wheeljack sounded a tad bit more disrespectful than Fowler liked hearing for his men.

Oh well. Time to show them why he had more brains than these three combined (an exaggeration, to be sure, but he recognized when soldiers were rash and all three met that bill). He crossed his arms and glared up.

"Because you all can feel pain. I'm willing to bet the human playing his video game can't feel pain from his little toy," Fowler said plainly.

There was a distinct pause.

He had the feeling that those too dark to determine expression he was seeing on the mechs casting glances between themselves was something akin to horror.

"That's...Fightin' guys with pain receptors disabled is never a good thing," the wrecker shuddered.

"We've got it," Knock Out waved flippantly, "We'll be careful, mother."

Fowler resisted the urge to rub a hand down his face. This one was going to be a headache, wasn't he?

The three aliens moved over him to proceed into the darkness.

The human, on the other hand, started forward to find the other human factor at play in this mess.

* * *

This was his chance for payback.

So Breakdown hated how on edge he felt.

This was his chance to exorcise these tiny humans from every bad recharge flux.

But he remembered how easily their weapons had disabled him last time.

This time would be different though. This time, he had Knock Out with him. The red mech had his staff in his servo (something Breakdown was glad for; the medic didn't really have much weaponry without it, especially with his T-cog disabled, so at least the autobot Ratchet had grudgingly handed it back) and Breakdown had brute force. He didn't need his weapons to smash these facilities over right on top of the humans within.

There was enough noise coming from the Prime's battle for the mechs to find him. He was bleeding and bent over while his rusty lookalike bashed him over and over. A little ways in front of the ex-con duo, Wheeljack flexed his servos casually. Then they tugged his blades free and the sound of a facemask sliding into place echoed in the empty air. The wrecker ran forward.

Breakdown watched as the small mech leapt up. The false Prime turned away from his opponent and orange optics widened in surprise. The husk shimmied back and Wheeljack impaled the ground instead. Before the wrecker had stood again, Nemesis Prime had swung a leg into his head and knocked the small mech onto his side. All the while, the autobot leader was still trying to straighten up from the bleeding wound in his gut.

Now, he could go help. Or he could go find some of the humans that haunted his memories and smash them to pulp.

These were the hard choices.

Someone poked his arm and Breakdown broke from his reverie to look down at Knock Out.

"Well?" the medic nodded at the fight, "Are we going to go break that thing?"

Were they?

"What about the other humans?" Breakdown asked. "What about where-"

He wished he could say it was hard to remember the name, but the truth was that it had been seared into his mind. Afterall, he had been the only one with a face. The only one whose voice was clear. The only one with a name; a name he had told Breakdown before cutting into him.

"-Silas is?" he finished.

A slow smile crept over Knock Out's face.

There was a distinct strangeness about the expression; as if his partner knew something about Silas he didn't.

That danger, at least, was very familiar; it was the look of pleased ruthlessness. He recognized it from multiple interrogations or 'science experiments'.

Another grunt of pain came from Prime. Breakdown cast a glance over and then looked between the battling autobots and his partner. Knock Out was also looking away at the battle occuring.

"What?" the bigger mech asked with a note of annoyance.

His partner glanced at him.

"Excuse me?"

Breakdown laughed. "You wanna go help your new hero? Is that it?"

That seemed to touch a nerve. Knock Out frowned and the other immediately felt uninvited guilt stab at him for upsetting the medic.

"What's this about?" the smaller mech seethed. "I want to take down M.E.C.H. just like you. I also want to take that abomination over there down and smelt it so no human can ever try again. This has nothing to do with-with- ignoring you, or whatever you think this is. I-I," Knock Out was spluttering in what was likely offense, "risked _everything_ for you."

Both went quiet for a second.

"We'll continue this later-" the medic declared and then activated his staff's full height. "For now, let's roll."

Fighting the puppet or the puppetmaster didn't matter. Either way was fighting that fragger Silas (the very same human likely at the controls that Ratchet had found the signal of and all four reinforcements had).

Both partners nodded and then sprinted for the battle.

* * *

Nemesis Prime was a shockingly tough opponent.

Until it started acting up. The moment the fake froze up, all cybertronians moved in. The advantage had already shifted to them the moment they had so heavily outnumbered the monster, but when it went unmoving?

Well, there was no chance they wouldn't take advantage of its motionless.

Optimus punched and stabbed with small blades. Knock Out stuck his staff deep into the robot and let volts sear through its components. Wheeljack sliced and carved metal off of it.

In short time, it barely resembled Optimus at all.

And now? The _coup de grace._

It was Wheeljack's idea. He had stepped back and sheathed his swords again. Then the wrecker slid in and shoved a familiar device through one of the cuts on Nemesis Prime.

"Go!" he yelled and folded into the sports car he had taken on earth.

The others caught on quick and retreated.

Nemesis Prime never moved as the grenade counted down. It never fought as the device exploded outwards and blew its components apart.

A short distance away, Optimus had a servo over the stab wound and watched the fire bloom and die away.

It was done.

Wheeljack whooped. Under his mask, Optimus let himself give a tired smile at the sound. It was good to hear happiness from his mechs; his family.

And Knock Out was laughing; it was only now that Prime really got the chance to wonder to himself _why was he here?_ Presumably, Ratchet had let him. But if he had let Wheeljack and Knock Out come as reinforcements, and if a third had joined them at the start of the beatdown of Nemesis Prime, then...

"Where is Breakdown?" he asked the short medic.

All mirth disappeared into confusion.

And Optimus steeled himself to deal with the pain later. Right now, there was still much to deal with.

* * *

Muscles strained and burned. The extra fat he'd taken on felt like weight. The suit felt unsuited to combat.

But like Fowler had told Silas: he wasn't here to win a one on one fight. He was here to distract the other from his video game.

He bent over to breath when the leader of M.E.C.H. ran back for his controls. It wasn't going to do much. The screens showed that his little toy was being pretty thoroughly torn apart. There wasn't much likelihood it could recover from the damage dealt while Fowler had distracted its driver.

Silas was repeating the word no as an angry mantra. He stomped on controls and jerked joysticks and Fowler tried to recover his strength in order to attack again. Tonight, M.E.C.H. would lose its head. One way or the other, the agent was sure o-

His heart very well could've stopped in shock when the entire wall was torn away.

Both he and Silas stopped everything to stare at the new opening. And at the mech currently crouching into the gap. He straightened up after entering in full and one singular eye fell upon first Fowler and then the human standing up from the chair at the controls.

Fowler backpedalled when Breakdown stomped forward. Silas, on the other hand, did not backtrack nearly fast enough. One massive foot rose and then fell down with a force even a retired army ranger had to flinch back from.

His disapproval seemed to gain the attention of alien. He turned to stare behind him at the sweaty human with the crossed arms and disapproving frown.

"Whoops," Breakdown said and stepped back from the mess, "Clumsy me."

Fowler looked at the unrepentant mech and then away. Great. _Another_ loose canon.

Fantastic.

On the other hand?

Well, first he had to get the military off the autobots backs. But after that?

There was no harm in the happiness defeating M.E.C.H. brought about.

After all, they'd just protected America, nay,_ the world_, from that terrorist threat. M.E.C.H. would never be able to harm the U.S. with a make belief cybertronian again.

Would they?


	11. Let's Leave Our Worries For Tomorrow

Recent events are defended, the last crate of high grade on earth is unleashed, and shadowed threats grow more dangerous to this crew.

_AN- Style is different with this one; it cuts between the grilling of Fowler by General Bryce and the events proceeding the destruction of Nemesis Prime and death of Silas. Next chapter will be back to normal format._

* * *

No matter how skeptical General Bryce seemed, Fowler had his mind made up.

Sure, he hadn't always much liked the bots. Sure, they still clashed heads at times.

But he did know where their loyalties lay.

"Rest assured," Fowler leaned over his knees to look intently at the general. "The safety of these humans, of all humans, remains the primary concern of all autobots."

And he would say what it took to keep them safe in their base; which meant convincing the discontented human military to keep the status quo.

* * *

They had retreated through the groundbridge when the human military had approached. Until Fowler called off the hostilities, it was best for them to remain out of sight.

The rest of the autobots were found, all already moving but seeming slow about it. Even though they'd been subdued, none had injuries like Optimus himself did.

The medbay evolved out from its official cramped enclosure to the space outside. Ratchet worked on Optimus while the other medic and his assistant looked over the others. When those repairs were finished, things relaxed substantially around the base. Agent Fowler called to inform them that the orders to shoot on sight had been put on standby until he spoke with the human general Bryce. About an hour later, his jet finished the trip from Oregon to Nevada and he came down the lift to better explain the situation to Optimus.

Wheeljack made a noise of fanfare and clapped at his entrance, teasing him with 'sir's and such. Breakdown still looked at him intently, unable to shake the feeling he knew this human somehow.

And with his arrival, the children made their exit. Or rather, the agent glared at them all for still being awake and they were bridged to their homes with much complaining.

After clearing Arcee, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee, Ratchet made Breakdown come over to him. If anyone saw the smear of reds and such trailing his left pede as he trudged to the medbay, no one had mentioned it. Because he had done strenuous activity (read: fighting), Breakdown had torn some of his repairs. His primary physician post-Airachnid incident grumbled something under his breath about 'no respect for injuries' and the like.

Optimus, in the meantime, stood facing the inhabitants of Autobot Outpost Omega One. One servo lingered near the welds and repairs from the stab wound, but even with that motion towards an injury, the Prime looked serene.

"I thank you all for what you did tonight," he said. "From agent Fowler's ingenuity in distracting the human Silas, to Ratchet's emergency response to every one of us who returned; you have all acted with great strength and dedication."

He offered each listener the same even optic contact, never passing over any or spending longer on one.

"I fully believe that our actions tonight were in defense of the human race and in honor of our own, for what M.E.C.H. attempted was a threat to both our kinds. And I believe each of you acted in these good interests."

A mech would have to be incredibly sparkless to not feel something at the thanks of a Prime.

* * *

"I'll admit, recent events have included rather questionable decisions and motives," the general stated.

So much prettied talk. Fowler missed the officers that always cut to the point. "Such as?"

Bryce's lips went thin.

"You mentioned in your latest report that two decepticons are now living in a highly classified government base of operation."

And Bryce had mentioned in the past just how much he was hoping for a con to swap sides. Fowler resisted saying all of that sarcastically, but only just. His usual self control was harder to find after staying awake nearly all night.

"They're both former cons now," the agent corrected.

"And do you think we can trust they will stay that way? Do you think it's safe to have them wander the base?"

* * *

It wasn't hard to find Knock Out. Not when there were so few rooms to wander.

The medic was in their 'room' wiping himself down with one of the autobots cloths. Certainly not as delicate as the box of rags on the _Nemesis_, but Knock Out seemed not to care enough to turn it down.

Not that long ago, he wouldn't even bother with cleaning if Breakdown was nearby because he'd just make the big guy do it for him.

But Breakdown wasn't here to think about the past.

"Hey Knock Out," he waited in the doorway. The red mech paused mid polishing; his arm still reaching over his head to get at his back and entire form frozen in that pose like some sort of organic animal in headlights.

"Breakdown!" Knock Out grinned. His arm finally flopped down and he straightened up.

"Look," the blue mech moved in, though not by much. The room couldn't afford much. "Tonight was. I don't know. It felt like a...a point of no return, you know?"

His fingers fiddled together.

"And not just 'cause we don't gotta worry about that fleshy anymore. I...it-"

Breakdown sighed. Knock Out dropped the cloth down on the berth and looked closer at him.

"Are you alright?" he asked with all that desperate worry that had shown up so recently (not that the medic never talked with worry before, but it had always felt rather superficial).

"I'm alright," Breakdown answered before finishing what he had meant to say. "I just. I think we can go tell your new friends I'm done playing around. I can't sit on a fence while you run off on a new life."

There was an immediate flash of panic on those perfect porcelain features. The blue mech moved to calm the concern down.

"I'll try it too. I'll be an autobot."

* * *

"What about the decepticons? Have they lashed out in response to their medics defecting?"

Fowler shook his head.

"Hasn't seemed like it so far. It could very well be that they don't know yet," he guessed. "Or maybe a warship containing an army that still holds air superiority just doesn't think it's that tactically disadvantageous to lose two-" What was the term he'd heard again? "-grounders."

The agent shrugged to finish: "We can only guess. Who can tell what goes on in the minds of con high command?"

* * *

This-

This was disconcerting.

Soundwave replayed the grainy video feed again.

The communications officer watched what human surveillance cameras on scene had found (or at least those before the location had been scrubbed by masked humans belonging to the terrorist group that had once taken Breakdown).

It didn't change. Still the Prime fought against a rusty duplicate of himself. Still their missing medic and his assistant dodged around the replica.

Perhaps this chimera of humans and the cybertronian form could have been a great threat. Surely, loyal decepticons had set aside faction symbols in the face of threats. Just recently, Lord Megatron himself had allied with the autobots of Earth to defeat the god Unicron.

But then the former wrecker shoved a grenade into the unmoving robot's internals and it blew apart.

If the alliance had been in the name of defeating this human group, then the two factions would split apart from each other or fight each other now that the threat was gone.

Certainly, loyal decepticons would not follow autobots through a groundbridge once the joint threat was gone.

It was almost easier when Soundwave had assumed they were dead.

This was far more bitter to swallow.

He'd been fooled. He had failed to notice any signs of discontent or plotting or treason against the cause itself (Knock Out had been caught on video plotting with Starscream to terminate Lord Megatron, but that was in the interest of rising in the decepticon ranks- there was a large difference in motives when it came to common decepticon treason and defecting to the Prime).

He had _**failed**_.

Never in the vorns as a communications officer had Soundwave failed so collossially in behavioral analysis.

And he was not any communications officer. He was Lord Megatron's communications officer.

He had failed Lord Megatron.

Soundwave replayed the video once again.

Soon, he would have to report this. Soon, he would have to end the hunt for Knock Out and Breakdown's deceased remains. Soon, he would have to admit to failure.

But he had yet to move from the video so infuriatingly unexpected and unprecedented.

* * *

"You seem tired, soldier," Bryce crossed his hands on the desk. "You aren't being very clear."

Fowler waved him off.

"I was up 'til this morning at the autobot outpost dealing with this mess," he said and moved on quickly. No need to explain that he had not been working tirelessly that entire time.

"Alright, we'll get back on track then. So you were saying that the infighting among the decepticon ranks continues."

"And then some," Fowler scoffed. "Megatron can't seem to keep his inner circle holding hands."

"And you don't think we can take advantage of the chaos? Motivate a decepticon to join our cause?"

He paused to think a second before answering. "Besides the two we already got?"

* * *

Since he did not party, Optimus had disappeared to the quietest portion of the base.

The others had no such qualms.

"Tonight-" Wheeljack was standing on a crate and looking over his 'troops'. In one servo held high was a cube of dark blue energon. The rarest commodity of a base with a Prime and groundbridge technology both. "Tonight, we celebrate wrecker-style!"

Head held in his servos, Ratchet groaned.

"Celebrate what?" the old mech said to the floor below; it was still audible to the small mech standing overhead. Wheeljack grinned.

"A major victory. The defeat of those humans who thought they could beat us-" he pointed at himself and then at his audience, "-at our own game."

This was far too pointless to his exhausted audials. Ratchet wondered every passing moment why he hadn't just left yet.

The medic had still not gone.

"So tonight, in our victory, I offer you the most precious material I had stored on the _Jackhammer_-" Wheeljack grinned and shook the cube. There was no mistaking the greedy focus all had on it.

" 'brought the crate in from the ship," he jumped down off it and finally stopped flaunting the cube of high grade he held. "So grab some, crack it open, enjoy; my treat."

Tonight was far from a 'major' victory. A major victory would be along the lines of killing Megatron or permanently disabling the _Nemesis_.

But in a war that never ended, calling minor victories reasons for celebration kept spirits up.

So they started a party and the high grade kept it going.

On the catwalk, the one human still awake watched the proceedings with great amusement. Drunk robotic aliens was something that had to be seen to be believed. And somehow watching this awkward attempt at revelry made this team even more relatable on a human level.

But besides Prime missing, another autobot was avoiding the fun. Fowler knew where he was at. And despite how amusing watching this was, and the less than friendly interactions he'd had with the missing bot in the past, the agent felt he needed to go.

None of the others noticed all that much when he had disappeared. Or at least not until Wheeljack had tried to make a toast to his "best commander yet" and then seemed to sulk in disappointment when the human wasn't around to hear the joke. The wrecker was volatile to offense when sober, but being energized only seemed to make him pout instead of angry.

Bumblebee had been too young to remember peacetime. He also had never had much experience getting overcharged. Wisely, the scout tried to only intake small portions of the rare high grade.

Unfortunately for him, it still had him a bit more buzzed than usual. Otherwise he probably never would have cozied up to Knock Out and tried to get him to join a 'sports car club'.

The young medic accepted the invitation regardless of whether Bumblebee would rescind on the offer once sober.

This night felt _amazing_. It felt like that post wartime bliss. It felt like the first night his friends from another world had seemed remotely comfortable with him.

And it was better than those nights because Breakdown was alive and well and so was Prime.

He found Arcee where she was lounging against the wall of the main room.

"Thanks for being here," he gushed without thinking.

_Thanks for being here instead of running like my Arcee did after the council. Thanks for being here instead of avoiding us like Bulkhead. Thanks for being here so supportive instead of hostile like I dreaded. Thanks thanksthanks-_

She cast him an amused glance.

"I'm just here for the high grade."

Knock Out stayed with the two-wheeler and they both made commentary until the rudest interruption happened. Said interruption came in the form of a bucket of white paint, left over from the incident with the synthetic energon formula in Bulkhead's mind; and said bucket of paint was thrown all over the 'perfect' mech.

_"Welcome to the autobots!"_ Bumblebee laughed and threw the empty bucket aside. Breakdown smirked from the sidelines and waited for the explosion.

"You have now been initiated," Arcee nodded sagely. "Welcome to the robot fight club."

There was a distinct pause before Knock Out started screeching.

* * *

"So you believe them to be genuine? You believe they can aid us in ridding our planet from the decepticon threat?"

* * *

The lift opened out to the plateau above the old missile silo. Bulkhead was sitting near Cliffjumper's memorial, looking up at the stars. An untouched cube of high grade sat next to him.

He could hear the human approach but didn't move his face away from the sky above.

"You doing alright out here, big guy?" Fowler slumped down too.

Was he?

Bulkhead sighed.

"You know they're throwing a gig down there?" the human asked rhetorically. The green mech ground his dentae together.

"Yeah," he answered, "I know."

There was a pause.

"And you don't want to join your buddies?" Fowler pressed.

Bulkhead tried to laugh but it came out short.

"Oh, I do. I do. I just...I can't right now. I can't do it."

For another moment, the both waited in the dead silence of night. Neither had talked much in the past, other than Fowler telling Bulkhead off and the mech harassing the agent.

"For hating the two downstairs, you're doing pretty well," the human ended up saying. Bulkhead sighed again.

"What would you know about it?"

Humans had such short lifespans and such peaceful lives when compared to the vorns of fighting he'd lived through.

At least, Bulkhead liked to think that. It was easy to think that.

"...We had this contact once," Fowler spoke up. "Can't say his name or the red tape'll suffocate me, but my boys and I will never forget it. We were down south, trying to get a hold of this guy. All of us wanted his head. He did real nasty stuff, just plain bad. Eventually, we got him cornered in one of his isolated mansions."

There was another pause. Bulkhead moved his face down from staring straight up to looking directly out across the desert. He waited for Fowler to keep going.

"Well, we got the guy. Got him alive too. Made us all feel good and moral. We brought him back and you know what he did? He offered to rat out his fellows. Offered up so much we could never pass up, just so he could avoid the sentencing he deserved. Little bastard weaseled his way out of justice but we got the rest of them."

The human let out a deep breath and looked down at his feet rather than the view. "Doesn't make any of us feel any better about passing up the opportunity to shoot him when we had the chance."

Huh. Bulkhead went thoughtful. Much as he wanted to keep thinking of Fowler as either a jerk or a load, he couldn't. This wasn't nessescarily familiar, but it was an experience he could comprehend. He knew that the wreckers, as a unit, had been dealt similar situations without him.

He knew that the wreckers had always shot rather than go through the bureaucracy Fowler's unit had.

But he'd never been a part of a squad making a decision like that. And Bulkhead knew that when it came down to it, he'd grit his dentae and make the call Fowler and his commanders had. Taking down the enemy group was more important than dealing justice to one of their members.

"I'm not gonna ruin the advantage they're offering," Bulkhead argued but Fowler cut him off.

"That's not what I said. All I'm saying-" he looked up into the glowing blue optics of the mech that had once almost left him to Starscream "-is that if you need to talk about it, I wouldn't laugh at you."

They waited out under the stars for a while longer. Fowler was shivering in the freezing cold but he hadn't left yet.

"...thanks." Bulkhead carefully pushed at the human's tiny shoulders with one finger. "You're not so bad, I guess."

"I'm blown away by your praise," the agent replied dryly. He watched the puffs of steam from each breath.

The pincher like servo arranged itself in a cupping shield from the wind around the human. Both had gone quiet again.

"I want your honest opinion on something," Fowler spoke up again. "Do you think this is going to come back and bite us? Or do you think we can trust our two new recruits?"

In honesty, Bulkhead defaulted to how Optimus thought. If Optimus seemed to trust this would not end poorly for the autobots, the wrecker would too.

But beyond that, he also knew more than he'd like about both his rival and the fancy mech Breakdown assisted.

"I doubt I'll ever trust either of them personally." He scoffed aloud and shook his head with the remaining laugh. "But I know they can't just turn around now. If there's no going back, I do trust that twosome will do what's best for them; and that means sticking with us. In case you haven't noticed, we autobots are a bit more forgiving than old buckethead is."

* * *

"I think so," Fowler answered. Bryce frowned.

"You don't think they'll use this as an opportunity to betray the autobots and the United States?"

The liaison shook his head. "I don't think so. I've been watching both of our newest bots. They're very close. Whatever shots the little guy calls, Breakdown will follow. And it really looks like the shot caller wants to be integrated with my-the team."

The interview fell into uncomfortable silence. Then the general spoke up again: "You say that we haven't been served Megatron's steal head on a silver platter yet because of air superiority. But the only two decepticons we have swayed to our side have no access to flight. While you are adamant that Optimus Prime was not the mech we saw destroyed, I am still unsure what victories I can report to the five stars."

So he wanted to hear about the positives? Fowler could oblige there. The agent pulled a manila file from his coat jacket and handed it over. "Then let's consider the positives," he said and watched as Bryce opened the file up. "We now possess greater intel regarding M.E.C.H., particularly their leader Silas. The stagename of one Colonel Leland Bishop, ex special tactics."

They had gathered and tested the dna left behind by the mess Breakdown had left to find the deceased colonel's identity. Bryce spent some time talking of the dead leader before Fowler moved the conversation to the more pressing loose end: "Of greater concern, M.E.C.H. agents like Silas may also be special tactics."

That could only be read one way.

"As in, currently enlisted?"

Fowler nodded in affirmation. "One obvious motive for hiding their faces. I would urge a thorough investigation, and leave bigger problems for metal hands more capable than our own."

The general set the file aside and leaned forward.

"Of what consequence are M.E.C.H. agents going to be without their leader?"

* * *

Deep inside an abandoned nuclear reactor core, commander Kurtzman met with the other chiefs.

Engineer Vitrolof.

Surgeon Smith.

Commando Lincoln.

The rest of the entourage.

Stage names and blank masks. Only Bishop had gone with his face uncovered. He had been the face of their organization.

But they had been the brain and body.

"Our acclaimed leader was far beyond our help, even with our unconventional advances," Kurtzman mourned. The soldiers lining the core seemed likewise grim. This was, without a doubt, a memorial service. A send off to the inspiring leader. It was no formal military funeral, but M.E.C.H. consisted of special tactics and disgruntled fighters from all corners of the world. Their combined cultures demanded they respect their fallen superior.

"But the path he took is visible to all of us who look."

The base of operations spread out from the empty reaction. It contained halls and rooms of technology, both human made and alien leftovers.

"His notes and plans remain behind in life for us."

It was just one base among a multitude. M.E.C.H. was far reaching over the globe. And after the discovery that mankind was not alone, they had worked in the shadows of titans. They had scraped and stolen whatever they could from fights between the apex of cyberbiology.

"Even without Silas, M.E.C.H. will live on," Kurtzman stated. "His dream will live on."

The chiefs, or those who had attended, stood around the picture of the face of Leland Bishop- the man they had known as Silas. His medals, both from the U.S. special tactics and from M.E.C.H. itself, rested by the photo.

But on the opposite corner of the floor lay a different face. A blank chrome face with a dull band that had once glowed red.

A face that the chiefs knew many, many more titans wore. But these? These were the giants that neither warring faction missed.

The face of the autobot leader on Project Chimera had drawn immediate attention and the responding forces had destroyed M.E.C.H.'s leader.

The face of a drone that matched every other would not draw that vengeful response time. And there were so very many drones compared to the unique mechanoids on both sides of the war.

"We will grow only stronger with this devastating loss."

This particular head had no body and thus little use to M.E.C.H. But they had the technology needed to disable a living titan and the resources needed to transport their prizes to safety before either autobot or decepticon bothered to respond.

"Our otherworldly visitors believe us gone. Let them. We will act in their ignorance. We will move in their shadows until, like the legendary phoenix, we will rise again and take our victories."

In many ways, Silas dying was the best thing that ever happened to M.E.C.H. But Kurtzman would not say that now.

"We will establish the new world order. In Silas's name, we will bring about our visions."

He would only stir passion and use their dead leader as the instrument for that passion.

"Silas's passing is a devastating loss for us all. But we are intent on following our illustrious leader's path; and never before have we had the ability to do so between than we do at present."

* * *

_AN- Kurtzman is a shoutout to Alex Kurtzman, one of the producers for Transformers: Prime._

_There are actually quite a few shoutouts to the series in this chapter._


	12. Megatron's No Good, Very Bad Day

Starscream and Airachnid attempt their coups, with varying success.

_AN- And messes ensue_

* * *

The video played on Soundwave's visor.

Megatron was rather quiet as he watched.

The warlord remained quiet even after the video feed had finished. Then he had thanked Soundwave for his good work in finding this information and proceeded down to the training room.

A cycle later and that training room was completely unusable. Megatron couldn't find it in himself to regret his outburst.

He only regretted not having the two traitors themselves near him to unleash his outrage upon.

* * *

The _Harbinger_ was useless! No energon, no flight capabilities, nothing!

Starscream kicked equipment angrily regardless of how little energy he had to spare.

How was this supposed to help him destroy his enemies? How was this junk going to get him control of the decepticons?

He was forced to wander in search of energon but despite how little use the _Harbinger_ had been thus far, Starscream always returned to it. The derelict masked his signature. That alone was worth everything it failed to offer him.

The seeker had no desire for Soundwave to find him. Megatron would surely have his spark. And the autobots had already shown just how willing they were in accepting a defecting con. His face still had the cut from Arcee; a perfect reminder of where he and all his vorns of information stood with _them_.

The fleshy Silas had cut his T-Cog and ran and Starscream fluctuated between wanting them to never find him again and wanting to track them down and force them to put his organ back in. And then crush them all after.

And all the autobots. And that horrid Soundwave.

And Megatron himself; of course Megatron. Starscream would let his helm adorn his room in the _Harbinger_, he would! Wait and see! And then he, Starscream, would offer the decepticons the dynamic leadership they deserved!

As soon as he got out of this stupid, flightless state and found mountains worth of energon.

Kicking a bit more rubble aside, he tugged another door open. He hadn't explored the entire ship yet and was holding out on the hope that somewhere in here would be fuel and weaponry.

This room didn't seem to have any. But on the far wall, it did have-

Ah. Protoforms.

Starscream started to smile.

Now here was something he could use.

After all, if the autobots decided he was worthless and Megatron wanted to snuff him and the humans turned against him so easily, who was Starscream left with?

The one mech he could rely on. The only mech he ever had.

Himself.

* * *

Bulkhead sighed and looked down at the two thin concrete slabs. They'd been easy to find and Miko had loved what they'd done with them. Both of them had gone outside and Miko sat on Bulkhead's leg while she described her grand vision for them.

_"We need colors! OH! And maybe some fake blood. Too hardcore? You're probably right. How about some hot pink? I'm feeling some hot pink-"_

And he had just gone along with what she thought of because, in all honesty, out of the two of them she was 1) more capable of delicate work and 2) much more creative. True, Bulkhead could build stuff, but it was just...construction stuff. Not imaginative things.

Granted, neither of them were great artists. But Bulkhead always like the pictures Miko drew up with color pencils, even if they did look more suited to a younger human child than a high schooler. He thought she was Very Good. He was biased, yes, but he would defend her skill to anyone.

Still, this sort of project was a bit more plausible for them. It was a mixture of graffiti and paint spills. Bulkhead would break little cans open over the slides for blotches of color and Miko would use spray cans to write unreadable letters and unrecognizable pictures.

Overall, it got her incredibly messy and Bulkhead had to wash his servos off while she went home to shower.

Which was how he wanted it. Though he hadn't said it to Miko, Bulkhead didn't want her with him when he dropped off their art projects. He still didn't want her anywhere near them.

Bulkhead stood up and stopped hesitating.

The door was opened, so the wrecker knocked on the wall outside. All talking in the room tampered out and Knock Out's flamboyant voice called "come in!"

It was impossible not to bristle up so Bulkhead didn't even try. But he was here. He was holding these hand crafted slabs in his servos.

His shoulders were tensed as he made optic contact with Breakdown. Neither moved; their faces were static and locked on each other. Knock Out cocked his head to the side, looking dangerously curious.

"Well, hello," he purred and Bulkhead resisted the urge to shudder.

It had been a month. One Earth month with them as autobots. Bulkhead was the only one who had managed to stay resisting in that time.

"Here-" the wrecker held out both colorful slabs. Breakdown made a move to take them, but Knock Out stepped up as if he hadn't even noticed the blue mech moving.

"They're for you both," Bulkhead frowned. "From me and Miko."

A peace offering.

Since Knock Out had taken the slabs and was lifting a brow critically as he looked at them, Bulkhead decided he could leave. The wrecker slipped out of the cramped room and moved away.

No reason to stick around.

Besides, the month had been a huge strain on energon reserves. Optimus had teams going out every cycle to find mines and energon.

He wouldn't get in trouble for going out early to look for some.

* * *

It had been an...interesting day.

First, the human Miko had called to yell at the comm monitor on duty (an unfortunate Ratchet) to ask why she hadn't been picked up at school.

That had made every one of them aware that a certain Bulkhead was missing from the base.

And they could find no trace of him.

His signal was gone. His comms weren't being answered.

Later, a decepticon beacon was sent out and the hope rose that it could be related to Bulkhead.

And then, before they could work on finding him, a large group of signals came online. Insecticon activity; many, many insecticons.

That had to be investigated, with or without their missing wrecker.

* * *

The moment he stepped out from the groundbridge, Knock Out jumped and wanted to go back through again.

There were insecticons _everywhere_.

Ugh, he had no desire to get near any of those vermin.

Optimus remained calm even as the rest of them reacted at the swarm flying up into the sky. His battlemask was shut but his optics alone seemed to express enough.

Likely, he was looking for the source of this chaos.

Knock Out already knew what it was. Or rather, _who_. He remembered that day that Megatron had returned into the Nemesis with an insecticon army behind him.

It didn't take long for Arcee to discover the cause too. The two-wheeler stiffened and looked forward.

"_Airachnid_," she seethed.

A moment later and she jumped down after the spider. Was it the smartest move? Erm, no, but...Knock Out couldn't really blame her for taking the opportunity to chase Airachnid down. It may be true that Breakdown was standing nearby, hammer at the ready (since the two of them were being sent to fights with the rest of the bots, Ratchet had skeptically reactivated their T-cog), but he still remembered discovering that the big guy had died at Airachnid's servos.

He still wanted to tear her apart.

And it was so obvious Arcee did too.

When she tore down the hill, Knock Out folded down and drove after her. Their noise attracted Airachnid's attention and the insecticon femme turned to smirk at them. She motioned six insecticons forward. Optimus was calling after them but neither revenge seekers noticed, or cared to notice.

Three of the vermin flew on overhead to attack the bots left on top of the hill. The other three warbled and dove after Knock Out and Arcee. Ahead of them, Airachnid stopped sprinting and dug down into the ground.

Arcee transformed to twist around and shoot one of the insecticons down. She landed in rootmode and rolled away, coming up to her knees to shoot a second one down. At close quarters, insecticons were a threat to behold. But the vermin had their weaknesses and almost any strong blaster could be used against them.

Not to be left behind, Knock Out spread into his own root form as the last insecticon went over him and stabbed his staff upwards. Volts of energy tore through the screeching vermin and it dropped from its flight. The medic compressed down into a vehicle once again and sped towards Arcee.

The two-wheeler was looking down into the hole Airachnid had dug.

"Shoul-"

She jumped down before Knock Out had even finished what he had been saying. Folding his staff down and subspacing it, the medic followed. He was lucky he was so small; if he was Breakdown's size, it would have been impossible to follow.

Both of them landed in a large dry cave. Stasis pods lined the walls, floor, even ceiling.

Arcee stepped forward first. Her guns pointed out and she moved slowly. Knock Out brought his staff out and moved next to her, facing the direction she wasn't.

A few steps passed in tension. The cavern was far too vast; it made him feel outnumbered, even if their quarry was one less than they were.

Then the suspense broke. Red blaster fire rained down on them and Arcee and Knock Out separated to roll behind different stasis pods. Dirt disrupted as gunfire hit the ground. He tugged his pedes closer to him as it got closer. Arcee growled and threw herself out to shoot at the insecticon.

It was moments like these that really made Knock Out want a good gun of his own. The medic stayed where he was instead, at least until the gunfire stopped.

A second after it stopped, something crashed to the ground. Knock Out unfolded from his huddle and moved around his cover.

The crash had been Airachnid falling to the ground.

Arcee moved to the fallen femme first. Guns pointed forward, the two-wheeler came to a stop in front of the insecticon. Airachnid outvented hard and made no move to stand up.

"When you extinguish my spark," the insecticon said heavily, still having the gall to smile, "_make it hurt."_

Arcee almost imperceptibly cringed back.

"You _know_ I would extend that courtesy to you."

Pain? Now that was something Knock Out had no qualms about dishing out. He spun his staff and moved to Arcee's side.

"I'll oblige," the mech snarled.

This was the femme who had ended Breakdown's life before Knock Out had gotten to know him. She would pay.

Perhaps his anger had distracted him. By the time he saw Airachnid's smirk, it was too late. The femme shot webbing at him and he was knocked back by the impact. His back hit a nearby stasis pod and the web stuck on both sides of the shiny metal.

Wait-

No!

Knock Out struggled forward to no avail. Arcee looked between him and the once again standing insecticon, undecided. Airachnid was laughing.

"Do you see my energon on the ground?" the insecticon femme sang. "You were so proud to have spilt it earlier, weren't you?_ Ar-cee,_ you _know_ what happens if I shoot it, don't you? First it goes up, then the energon fueling every pod, and then you both burn away while I wait on the ceiling. Unless you leave now, or, if you don't want to lose another mech, get the dear doctor out before I light this place up."

The struggles went more frantic. Knock Out changed one servo to a buzzsaw and cut through a slab of the webbing.

There was only a nano more of hesitation. Then Arcee growled and ran for Knock Out, bringing her arm's blade out.

From where they'd left her on the wall, Airachnid was laughing. Her many limbs scurried away deeper into the cavern.

Between the buzzsaw and the blade, Knock Out slipped out of the bonds and stumbled away from the stasis pod.

The insecticon was gone.

"Frag," Arcee swore.

They waited and stewed in disappointment.

"Well?" the two-wheeler turned to the medic. "How many of these pods do you think are still occupied? Enough to make them a threat?"

* * *

Somewhere above the ground, the other autobots lost their balance.

"What was that?" Breakdown asked first, waving his arms to regain his footing. The ground rumbled with faded aftershocks.

Optimus made a 'hmm', optics narrowing.

* * *

The _Nemesis_ had crashed. It would be an easy target for the autobots.

But Megatron knew it would be an easy target for more than just autobots.

Today had proved that well.

At this point, the warlord could make a list of his former subordinates who would take advantage of the _Nemesis'_s current weakness.

Starscream, to be sure. His failed attempt at a coup with clones had shown that well. At the least, he had been able to finally satisfy an age old curiosity: he now knew what terminating Starscream felt like.

Airachnid had gotten herself an army. That was far more problematic than the seeker's antics. Megatron knew that if the femme was out of the picture, all insecticons on earth would default to him as their leader. He wasn't sure why there were even insecticons on earth in the first place; but Megatron had long stopped being surprised by important, unexplained happenings on this planet. It seemed having Unicron as its core made earth a hotspot for curious activity.

It didn't matter how the insecticons had arrived here. What mattered was the fact that they were fighting for a traitor rather than joining the might of his armies.

Such a shame he had been forced to exterminate so many potential warriors with the _Nemesis_'s weaponry.

And the autobots themselves had reared their heads that cycle. A group of them had been found, with his missing medics included, fighting Airachnid.

If he hadn't been busy dealing with two separate coup attempts, Megatron would have flown down and tore those two apart on his own. As it was, Starsream's clones and Airachnid's army had been too distracting to leave.

And when he finally found the chance to metaphorically breath, the very last of today's annoyances occurred.

The green autobot could be seen on tape jumping up and damaging the power core.

Megatron didn't have time to reach him and tear him apart either. He was too busy dealing with his ship flying down to earth's surface and crashing upon one cliffside.

Really, how had any of this happened? How had five Starscream's (a fifth body had been found in one shell-shocked vehicon's closet) and an autobot wandered in this ship unseen?

If Megatron didn't value him more than any other ally he'd ever had, the warlord would say Soundwave was slipping.

* * *

_AN- Oh, Knock Out, congratulations on somehow giving both the autobots and decepticons like twice as many enemies as they had in canon_


	13. We're All Just Getting Second Chances

_AN- This chapter contains a few flashbacks. Hopefully it will be easy to distinguish which sections are flashbacks and which aren't, but if it's confusing just tell me and I'll work on clearing it up._

* * *

There wasn't anything he could do. Systems were critical. His spark was guttering.

He could not finish his mission; the mission to receive the keys could not be finished by him. Others would have to instead.

But what use was the body of a titan? He pulled himself together and forced transformation. A ship- a ship would be better-

Injuries: severe- bu- could repurpose-

The last creaking movements stalled. The remaining thoughts fizzled.

The transformation was complete enough.

And so he died and spoke not for vorns.

* * *

The human waited for his partner to leave before he said it.

"Hey Smokey-" 'Jack' snorted, "Guess what?"

The rookie crouched down to get closer and matched the human's grin.

"What?"

Oh dear, they were close weren't they? Ew. What was worse than a fleshy or a rookie by themselves...

"Remember Vince's car?" the teen leaned in and Smokescreen's expression mirrored the human's eerily.

"What about it?" the mech asked.

"He got it painted all red the other day and then harassed Raf and Miko and I. But you know what color scheme doesn't mix well with sportscar red?" Jack laughed again. "Yellow! And you know what extra paint we had laying around the diner the other day?"

Knock Out did not like where this was going.

Smokescreen's face went flat with horrified amusement. "You didn't..."

Putting a hand up to his mouth conspiratorially, Jack replied: "Don't tell Arcee, but yeah. We did."

Then the both of them were laughing uproariously like this was the funniest thing in the world. As a bystander, Knock Out could confirm it had none of the hilarity they were convinced it did. And this conversation was so blase. How did the autobots handle it?

Oh well. He was one of them now. If this was how they wasted their time, he'd do it too.

But at least he could do it on his terms.

"This 'Vince' person," the ex-con crouched down and felt amused when Jack's face dried of all humor; it was comforting to see the reaction, though counterproductive of his plan to integrate with these people. Knock Out leaned one arm over a knee and tried his best to mimic Smokescreen's earlier expressions. "You say it's a sports car? As in a racing vehicle?"

The cautious fear remained, but a new emotion joined it. Well, look at that. Jack was intrigued.

Score: Knock Out's.

The three of them went racing later that day. And when Arcee prowled up with evident disapproval, Knock Out felt untouchable behind her human and Smokescreen.

It didn't feel all that remarkable.

It didn't feel that way until later.

Because after the space bridge guards told him the council would no longer let him travel to earth, Knock Out missed those races. He missed those fledgling days among the team. He even missed the humans; they were always fun to be around and Knock Out liked those that made him feel good.

The unremarkable became something he missed so much after his government told him he could not have it.

* * *

_«Hey Fowler.»_

The agent looked at the blinking dial and flicked on his own side of communications. Then his hands returned to the controls of the VTOL he'd had Ratchet modify (for comfort; Fowler wasn't ashamed to admit that).

"Fowler here," he spoke up, "I'm currently en route to your base, on Prime's request, so whatever you've got to say may want to wait until then."

There was a silence across the comms. Then the bot started up again, sounding remarkably less confident than usual.

_«'thought you said you'd listen if I wanted to talk.»_

_Oh._

Fowler felt a pang of guilt for being so short, but he hardly could blame himself. It wasn't exactly easy to talk and fly and besides, this bot showing him a modicum of respect happened every once in a blue moon.

The latest incident had been too recent for him to have foreseen another so soon.

"I'll do my best to listen then. What's on your mind?"

There was a quiet chuckle from Bulkhead before the response came.

_«You hear about how I took down the con warship?»_

Of course he had. That was the reason he was flying to Jasper from the nearest Unit:E outpost. Fowler happened to want front row seating in watching the cons go down.

"Kinda hard to miss, big guy," he said. Bulkhead laughed again.

_«Yeah, I did pretty well. But...there was an..._incident_. On the ship.» T_he wrecker gave an audible intake; probably a habit he'd picked up from Miko. _«I kinda...I ran into Starscream. Except later I saw another one of him? I don't really know what it was about. But anyway...»_

Fowler didn't prod when the wrecker went quiet again.

Even if he was a bit confused; last he'd checked, Screamer was neither welcome on the con warship nor had a way to get up there.

Still, he was here to listen, not question. Listen and fly.

_«Um. He. I thought he'd be pretty friendly, after Ratchet and I fixed him up so recently, but he started spewing threats instead. And. He was bragging.»_ Bulkhead could be heard growling over the radio, though it sounded rather subdued. _«He bragged about Cliffjumper. About killing him. And I...I got real mad. I killed him, Fowler.»_

Except he ran into him later? Fowler shook the confusion off. He'd gotten used to dealing with illogical happenings these days.

"Yeah?" the human replied. "That's one less con to deal with. And he's not exactly someone you need to cry over."

He had very distinct memories of electrical agony to prove that.

Still...

_«Well, I can't jump to that conclusion just yet»_ the other laughed awkwardly. _«Like I said, I saw him later so I guess he's fine. But-»_

Another silence. Fowler piloted the VTOL down towards one of the desert ravines.

_«I get that, I know he deserved it, but I...I just felt kind of bad about it. I don't know, I just...»_

"Listen soldier," the human said. "Killing should never be easy. Even when it's guys like Starscream that deserve it. It's necessary, but it's not meant to feel good."

Though he was a bit surprised that a guy who'd been fighting for literal centuries would still get caught up on it. After all, it didn't take humans all that long to dissociate from memories of killing.

_«It just, it reminded me about how dangerous I am. My servos turn into maces, for Primus's sake. I'm meant to destroy things. And I just let myself be around Miko, around all the kids, on a regular basis? I-I don't...»_

The plateau that the missile silo lay beneath became visible in the distance. A very quick distance to cross in a jet.

This was a VTOL though. Fowler brought it up stationary to hover rather than finish his flight.

"Have you talked to any of them about this?" he asked.

Bulkhead gave another short laugh.

_«No, no. I mentioned it to Jackie, but he never did get why I tear myself up over this. 'says I'm 'soft'. And Arcee just wished it would've stuck.»_

This time it was Fowler that chuckled. "Can't say I blame her. I'm not exactly the guy's biggest fan."

_«He'd probably be offended if you were»_ the mech retorted.

"Because I'm a human?" said human crossed his arms.

_«That too,»_ Bulkhead bantered back.

No respect from this guy, he swore.

«Anyway. Thanks for making good on your offer. Guess we'll see you in a bit.»

The radio line cut off. Fowler shook his head and uncrossed his arms to return to the controls.

"Anytime, big fella," he spoke to the air, "Anytime."

* * *

They were unquestionably the grumpiest upon returning to base. Bulkhead was practically dancing as he came back through the bridge, just absolutely caught up in single-handedly taking down the decepticon warship. The enthusiasm and consequent praise of Optimus Prime for 'quick thinking' and 'staying cool under pressure' seemed to make Breakdown seethe. The blue mech had disappeared to his room.

No matter how thrilled everyone seemed to be about having access to a grounded _Nemesis_, Arcee couldn't join in.

It seemed that Knock Out couldn't either.

The two of them found themselves in the training room, both standing by opposite walls and sulking.

A part of her wanted to blame him. If the medic hadn't been there, then he wouldn't have been the distraction Airachnid needed to get away.

But she couldn't just blame him. She should be grateful he had followed her; most of the time, the other bots were too distracted to give her back up when she'd chase the insecticon.

Granted, she really shouldn't keep breaking off from the unit to go on her own. Someday, being a lone wolf like that could get her killed.

She couldn't help it, or at least she didn't feel like she could. Whenever Airachnid arrived, Arcee lost control. A part of that was fear. She hated to admit it, but it was true. The other femme brought it all back. The noises of his death, her laughs, the exact 'shnk' of her claw. The sights replaced her vision; memories long seared in her processor that, even after the orns where it lay subdued, would rise unbidden and unwanted and somehow more real and vivid than what actually lay in front of her at present. Even the olfactory information returned. Her processor would proclaim that the acid and rot and musk were in the air around her, even if reason knew it was a lie.

And her own cry.

Tailgate-

_Tailgate-_

It was enough to drive her mad.

She lost her reason when Airachnid appeared and drowned in memories instead. No matter how she knew in hindsight chasing the femme alone wasn't wise, in the moments themselves Arcee hardly noticed.

It was driving her up the wall right now that she'd have to do it again. Airachnid was still alive and well in the world.

Someday again, Arcee would have to face her another time. Someday again, she'd have to feel consumed with that past fear and current murderous desire.

She didn't want to do it again.

And again.

And-

Airachnid had gotten away. Arcee and Knock Out had failed.

And they were unhappy about it.

"We messed up today, didn't we?" she asked rhetorically. He grunted.

Arcee slipped down to the ground and sat there to stew in their failure.

"I guess we can't sulk for too long," the two-wheeler went on. "Not with the _Nemesis_ down. That's too good an opportunity to pass up, no matter how we're feeling."

"Like scrap?" Knock Out raised a brow at her. She barked a laugh at that.

"Yeah," she confirmed, "No matter if we feel like scrap."

The medic flopped down to be seated as well. He had one head on a fist.

"We had her," he groaned. "We had her right there."

Didn't she know it. Arcee tried to keep her frustration at bay. She tried not to humor her rage.

It wasn't good for her. The fixture on revenge, it wasn't good for her. It made the rest look at her with sympathy she didn't want to see.

"So. Why do you hate her?" she asked.

Knock Out's face curled up. "She kill-she almost killed Breakdown. Do you even know how upset his death made me?"

Odd choice of wording, but Arcee got the point.

"I bet," the two-wheeler stated. "You two are really close. Losing someone you care about...it's never easy."

The medic seemed to jolt at that. Then he scooted his way across the training room to sit nearer to her. When he spoke up next, his voice had dropped several decibels.

"Thing is..." he started lowly. "Thing is we weren't. I spent vorns with him and never _knew_ him. Understand?"

It was always a bit odd when he got this intense, this desperate for understanding, with her.

"If she'd killed him, I never would've gotten the chance to learn who he is," Knock Out continued. "If she'd succeeded, I would've torn myself up regretting that fact."

For someone who proclaimed he didn't know or care about Breakdown, the medic seemed awfully cognizant of his own pitfalls. Arcee gave him a thin smile.

"But she didn't," she told him. "She didn't and you're both alive."

His red stare was piercing.

"It's a second chance. I won't waste it. And if we get a second chance at Airachnid?"

Arcee set a servo on his shoulder and finished for him: "We won't waste it."

And maybe she wouldn't receive such pity and disappointment from her team if it was Knock Out, rather than her, striking the killing blow while she held the insecticon down.

* * *

The humans at the start were confused at the concept of robots dying.

How could a cybertronian be killed? Couldn't they just be rebuilt?

But it was a misconception on their parts.

If the processor was damaged irreparably, then important memories and functions were forever lost. If the spark guttered out, then the person was forever gone. Even if the body was repaired to perfection, it was nothing more than an ornamental corpse.

This was the simple truth. These were the facts of life.

And dark energon completely rerooted them.

* * *

The reawakened titan disabled every interference.

The autobots, speeding towards the lifting warship with the spark extractor, were shot into stasis lock.

Soundwave was the next to fall; in his haste to do something for his lord, he connected into a console and was promptly shocked to stasis as well.

Every decepticon, from Dreadwing to the drones, on the ship met the same fate.

Even Megatron himself was neutralized; frozen in the process of pulling the lever to filter out the dark energon in the ships fuel lines.

It was this last one who proved the most dangerous, even in stasis.

Parasite, vermin, whatever they were- a carbon based lifeform had infected him. They stole from the database; stole the coordinates that he was tasked with finding!

What use would such aliens have with the keys? None at all. Greedy insects.

But he was a titan. He had a mission. None, not cybertronians or these aliens, would keep him from it.

They scampered around the power core and he moved to disable them as well.

Perhaps it was this poison in his fuel lines. Perhaps it was reawakening after death.

Perhaps there was a logical reason for failing to see the trap for what it was.

It did not soften the blow of failure.

It did not stop consciousness and life from growing unreachable once again.

And the keys-

The planet-

The warship returned to its mindless state, while both factions celebrated having access to the Iacon Database; and only Knock Out understood what that database signified.


	14. Divide and Conquer

Both the autobots and decepticons divide into teams to locate the relics they have coordinates for. Knock Out believes he is truly learning who Breakdown is, but his newest mission may tamper his enthusiasm.  
Meanwhile, vehicons are disappearing...

_AN- The amount of transformers soundtracks I have listened to this week while writing this story is truly ridiculous._

* * *

XL-8K9C was a punctual vehicon. He had a schedule for every day and rarely strayed from his plans.

He was a miner class and much preferred the job. Miners were not supposed to have to worry about combat and deaths; or rather, they most certainly did worry (it was an unavoidable job hazard) but not nearly to the degree that a fighter class vehicon had to.

Earth was littered with different mining operations. Like many of the others, XL-8K9C was transferred from mine to mine on a scheduled basis. There were a good few shifts underground. Then one shift on board the warship. Then he'd be transported to the next mine. Rinse and repeat.

The job itself was tedious but rewarding. Most miners were transferred in the same units and found companions amidst these groups. XL-8K9C had many friends among his mining unit and many friends among the drones that he did not always work alongside of.

On his off shifts, he liked to meet with these friends.

They'd group up in one of the vehicon rec rooms to take energon together. XL-8K9C was far from the most boisterous of the group, but he made an impact. He loved to socialize and always took time to sit down with the quieter of the mechs. It was these mechs, the ones who hesitated to go into the rec room, that found themselves most enamoured with his thoughtful company.

When the rest shift was up, XL-8K9C left for the groundbridge control room without any hesitation. Others would slow, linger on, try to pull as much as they could from this snippet of peaceful life. Not XL-8K9C. He had a schedule to keep.

But when the work shift was over, he never lingered on in the mines either. He'd return straightaways and find the company of quieter mechs indebted to his friendship; mechs like XL-2M99.

The choreograph of his life never changed. It was a constant, just like dying or Megatron and Optimus clashing as if for the last time. It was predictable and expected; and in that, comfortable.

So when XL-8K9C did not arrive to the rec room for his rest shift, XL-2M99 found himself very worried.

* * *

It was the most exciting news he'd heard in this entire venture- and that was up against some pretty tough competition.

"Breakdown!" he spun around the corner of the training room and nearly ran into his partner. The blue mech dropped the ball of metal scraps in surprise at the contact. "Breakdown! Guess what?"

There really was only one correct response to that. Breakdown offered it: "What?"

Knock Out's grin grew. "We're gonna get out soon!"

To him, this had been big news. It meant Optimus trusted him enough to let him leave the base and see Jasper Nevada outside (not that the Prime knew he knew it was Jasper outside).

On the warship, no one trusted anyone. Knock Out supposed he stuck out in that regard. He'd always trusted Breakdown would act like an extension of himself. He had trusted Starscream, until the seeker had tried to blame the zombie thing on him.

Trust was a funny thing to him because, in complete honesty, Knock Out was naturally trusting.

Because it was hard for him to assume a mech would act for himself instead of in Knock Out's best interests.

But Optimus? The Prime acted so sacrificial all the time. In the past, the medic laughed at it. After being on the receiving of that, though, his opinions on the matter had taken a one-eighty. Sure, it was still a bit idiotic and far from pragmatic but- it sure was inspiring.

Could he trust that Optimus would always act in Knock Out's interests? Absolutely not. But it made the approval feel...less like a guarantee and more like something he had earned.

In other words, it was as addicting as a drug.

And hearing that he could leave soon had him high.

"Wait. Really?" Breakdown's one optic went wide.

"Yes!" Knock Out clapped. "After the next set of missions! First thing I'm going to do is just tear out onto the nearest road and drive."

The blue mech sighed with a smile. "Goodbye, cabin fever. You will not be missed."

Wise words. Such truth. Knock Out joined him with a choreographed happy sigh of his own.

"Seems kinda fast though, doesn't it?" Breakdown lost the mirth to ask. The medic shrugged.

"How long is it supposed to take?" he replied. "We've been nothing but helpful."

So far as he could see, at least. Although he had been trying very hard to see from another's perspective, it did always circle back to how he viewed the world; and that view insisted they had been model autobots.

"Eh. I'm not gonna complain," the other said. Then his grin returned with a vengeance. "Besides," Breakdown continued, "I bet we're the fastest deserters to be given that sort of trust. Bulk's gonna hate how quick I got in."

"That's the spirit!" Knock Out returned, although he had a hunch it wasn't the spirit Optimus wanted to see.

They'd go out and drive first off. Feel the earth beneath their treads and speed without worries. Then may-

Wait.

Knock Out's continence turned to carefully scripted interest.

"What do you want to do when we get out?" he made himself ask nonchalantly.

The other shrugged.

"I dunno. Drive in theater? Or a monster-truck rally?" the blue mech offered. The latter option made Knock Out snort.

"I think you'd do better going with the wreckers to something like that."

The stunned quiet that followed made him shift uncomfortably.

"What?" Breakdown laughed. "Are you telling me to take Bulk to something affably?"

Put that way, Knock Out could see how bad of an idea it sounded.

"Um, well." Well what? He tried to piece the words together to sound as natural as he could. "All I meant was... I don't particularly want to watch a bunch of nonliving vehicles bash each other." It was much more fun when they were _living_, after all. "But if you want to, you should! W-without me. You know."

The yellow optic narrowed. "No?" the blue mech replied. "Let's just think of something we can do together. A drive sounds jus-"

"No!" Knock Out interrupted. "I mean-What I mean to say is, if you want to do something, find someone who wants to too. Don't stop on _my_ behalf."

The offense on Breakdown's face morphed into confusion.

"...Alright. If you say so," he said slowly. The medic beamed at him.

Look at that! The blue mech had made progress! They both had. His Arcee would be so proud.

"Wonderful!" Knock Out declared and put both servos on the big mech's chassis to emphasize joint happiness. Or what he figured was joint happiness. Honestly, the medic wasn't sure; but this seemed like the type of scenarios in the human movies for the character in his position to get all sappy.

"In other good news, I also spoke with the big guy about the autobrand."

In his former timeline, Knock Out had actually gotten the brand. It marred his perfect plating, but he had never felt better about ruining his aesthetic.

It had also been the first faction brand he'd gotten. In all the vorns he spent as a decepticon, Knock Out had never once taken on their badge. It took the war ending before he ever got his loyalty seared on his chassis.

But this time around? He'd get it while the war still raged on.

"I think, since we're already being let outside, that it could happen soon!" the medic kept going. "I've read all the stuff they've been giving me and we've been nothing but model autobot hopefuls this whole time; I think I could convince them to give us-um, me- the branding ceremony!"

The smile came hesitantly, but Knock Out hardly noticed the lack of enthusiasm on his partner's face.

"That's...great?" Breakdown tried.

Yes it was. It was completely delightful, to Knock Out at least. Why it wasn't for Breakdown, the medic wasn't sure and hardly cared. What did it mat-

Wait no.

Knock Out felt suddenly uncomfortable with this entire conversation.

"Well." His engine coughed. "I suppose we should be going. Must attend to the briefing about the latest mission. Yes."

His partner smiled at him. "Yeah, guess we should."

That smile brought all his spirits back. It felt like total confirmation that he'd done everything right. He'd listened to the other and they'd both discussed their individual opinions and what more were they supposed to do?

The medic spun around and left for the main room with a skip in his step.

With his back turned, he missed the way Breakdown looked after him in uncertainty.

* * *

"We must act quickly," Optimus said gravely. "For Megatron will not hesitate to obtain the potential doomsday devices which lie at the site of each. Each of us will have to leave; Rafael, you will control transportation in Ratchet's absence."

The young boy brightened up and straightened as tall as he could.

"You can count on me!" he declared.

All eight bots were standing together in the main room. The human children watched from the catwalk, still at the base after they had returned with the download of the Iacon Database. The fourth human was on a cot and currently far from being any help.

Ratchet spoke up after Raf. "But Optimus, when it comes to numbers-" the old medic cast a glance around the rest of them, no doubt thinking of the vast armies on the _Nemesis_ "-we are already at a grave disadvantage."

It was a fair point, but eight skilled mechs had a strong advantage against mere vehicons.

"Under the circumstances, swiftness of action is paramount. This is one race that we absolutely cannot afford to lose."

The first set of coordinates were in New York. With Jack's help, the autobots decided on the manhattan subway system being the best option to travel through.

"Arcee, Bumblebee; you are the best choices to navigate through such densely populated areas."

The children argued over the need for this team to have a 'face man' and Optimus looked uneasy over the prospect of sending them.

The last time, Knock Out had gone to the same location. He even knew the spot where the phase shifter had been dug up.

But it was a little bit difficult to say that.

Ratchet moved to open the groundbridge and the two teens ran down the stairs.

"Take care of her, Bee-" Bulkhead said to the scout. The yellow mech buzzed out a reassuring glyph.

The two bots, with the two humans, drove out through the bridge and left the team a little smaller.

Optimus turned to the next mech he planned to send out.

"Bulkhead, Knock Out; prepare for departure. You are headed for the equator."

The younger medic shot a glance at the green wrecker. Next to him, Breakdown stiffened. Neither were happy with the idea of being separated, and Breakdown was especially uneasy with his smaller partner being sent off with his rival.

"I'll prep for tropical weather, wrecker style-" the big mech pounded his fist together and Knock Out's mouth turned down.

Oh, this would be lovely.

"Rafael and agent Fowler will be your communications and transportation hub," the Prime finished.

Fowler's ensuing confused blather about bananas did nothing to improve confidence. Knock Out and Bulkhead shared a stare that perfectly enunciated just how they felt about him being their communications hub.

The groundbridge opened again. No matter how they felt about it, the medic and his partner's rival had to leave.

"Breakdown." Optimus turned to the blue mech after their departure. "We have not yet had time to work alongside each other closely. You will accompany me as we embark to the Antarctic."

Even as the ex-stunticon was still trying to think about what that meant for him, Ratchet seemed to have a realization. A simple bit of mathematics showed only one bot to remain other than the medic himself.

"Optimus-" he got closer to the commander "-you can't be serious. Wheeljack is insubordinate, a ruffian. Besides, he's Bulkhead's partner."

The small wrecker crossed his arms and shook with silent laughter from where he was standing (in full hearing range of Ratchet's complaints).

"Your expertise is scientific," the Prime tried to console the old mech. "But Wheeljack is a highly capable warrior. You would be wise to welcome the temporary alliance."

With Optimus's words, the matter was closed. Ratchet stepped back and looked to the side, where Wheeljack was smirking.

"I'll go grab the _Jackhammer_," the wrecker drawled, "Meet you outside, doc."

His departure was followed by a grumbling medic. Only Optimus and Breakdown remained.

The Prime moved to triangulate coordinates and open a bridge to the artic.

Breakdown looked at the green glow and felt the cold air seeping through the bridge.

So. An outing with the autobot leader. All alone.

Lovely.

* * *

"Dispatching multiple squadrons will enable us to pursue all four coordinates simultaneously," Megatron said. His waiting audience made no compliant with the declaration.

"Soundwave." The communications officer waited for his orders in perfect stillness. "You will pursue the second set of coordinates."

The spy nodded.

"Troopers," the warlord turned his glare to a squadron of vehicons next. "Split up and take sufficient forces to both sets of coordinates. Bring me the relic under the city we hover over now and the one on this planet's equator."

The drone were hardly given another glance.

"Dreadwing."

The seeker straightened up. After so many disappointments and failures, he was determined to bring good news back to his lord.

"Take a team of eradicons to the lowest point of this world and find me the relic that awaits there."

The squadron leaders selected and locations assigned, Megatron turned away from the officers.

When only Soundwave moved, slipping through a remote groundbridge and disappearing from the bridge of the _Nemesis_, he felt the need to snap out "Go!"

That got the rest to move.

Dreadwing walked from the bridge towards the lift to the lower deck. Normally, he would chose to fly to whatever location his master sent him too; but the artic was too far to fly quickly towards. He and his team would need to take a groundbridge.

The seeker stepped into one of the vehicon recreation rooms and all noise quieted.

"Who among you are ready to depart on a mission of great importance?" the officer asked. A few vehicons who were currently on their working shift rose and silently made their way over to him. They were enough. Dreadwing nodded and moved away from the door.

A short distance down the hall, he heard the noise of the rec room's door sliding open. Pedefall clipped towards him and the seeker slowed to a stop. Someone evidently wished to join them or wished to speak; whichever it may be, Dreadwing would respect it.

But it wasn't a fighter that joined him. The short newcomer was a miner by build. The damaged faceplate was a signature that this was the current medic of the Nemesis.

"I hoped to find officer Soundwave about this," XL-2M99 spoke up. "But you are an officer as well."

The second in command of this ship, in fact. But Dreadwing was hardly prideful enough to boast of that or demand more respect from the medic stand in.

"I am listening," he said.

The vehicon took another moment, seemingly to gain all the courage needed to speak. "I want to make a report. We're...There are vehicons missing. Ones that should have returned to the ship by now."

Dreadwing knew nothing of that. But a sad part of him was not surprised; drones were not much missed.

"What are their names?" the seeker asked.

"XL-8K9C was meant to return last planetary cycle, but he has not reported in. I am very worried about him," the vehicon mourned. "Others are missing as well. I can construct a full list of designations, or you could ask any one of the troopers you have with you now."

Truly? Dreadwing looked behind him at the silent soldiers. "Do you have any you wish to report?" he asked them. Their blank faces turned to each other to mutter quietly. Then one looked at him and said: "XL-S33Y." Another piped up a seperate designation.

By the time each of them had reported a missing comrade, Dreadwing felt gnawing concern. Something about this situation unsettled him greatly.

"Thank you for telling me," the officer turned back to XL-2M99 and spoke distractedly. His mind was thinking of the missing soldiers and wondering why their absences had not yet circled up to high command.

The medic inclined his head.

"I will do my best to return your brothers to you all," Dreadwing promised. "I swear I will look into these disappearances."

It would have to wait until after he retrieved the relic for lord Megatron; but when he had finished, the seeker planned to find the autobots or rogue decepticons responsible for this situation.


	15. The Only Family You Need

A glimpse at the stunticons during the war for cybertron.

_AN- Keep in mind that the rating has gone up_

_Originally this was going to include snippets of everyone's relic hunts and focus mainly on Optimus and Breakdown's drama in the arctic._  
_This chapter did not go anywhere near that plan._

_This chapter is also almost all flashback. Violence, murder, and unhealthy behavior is pretty rampant in both flashback sections._

_In other words, this is not a happy chapter._  
_Also, in the Aligned Continuity, apparently Dead End is green and yellow instead of dark red. I'm...less than pleased with this new aesthetic, but that's what we go with here._  
_And apparently Aligned-verse Wildrider is obsessed with Wheeljack._

* * *

He hadn't been tagging along with this group for very long. Less than a vorn, really. There were only a few reasons he had stuck around.

First being how much of his time and energy he had devoted to the one mech. Mods, training, buffing sessions. Knock Out would hate to just leave all that effort behind.

Second was the occupational safety being around five much stronger mechs gave him. And he did like to be safe.

Or as safe as he could feel around a group that felt like a ticking bomb.

And finally, it was entertaining enough. It certainly kept him busy and gave him the fun he needed to keep himself occupied. If he wasn't occupied? Then it was too easy to see how the world around him burned. It was too easy to remember that Velicitron, with its med school and race tracks, had been reduced to wastes.

So entertainment was a bit of a priority.

And this group did make it come.

Didn't the scene a few meters away from him prove that?

Normally, wreckers were too dangerous for Knock Out to want to be anywhere near. But this group of four? They were no threat to him at all. Not with the stunticons that stood prowling around them.

It was a good catch. There was a skinny mech, taller for his frame size. Since Knock Out tended to think of wreckers as the big, burly type, this sniper struck him as odd. Then there was the stereotypical big wrecker; a green round one who kept straining against the stasis cuffs and electric bonds. That one had butted heads with Breakdown in the past and the blue stunticon was buzzing with satisfied energy at seeing him defeated. There was a gray wrecker with a hideous face who looked like he should've been yelling taunts and dares. The mech was quiet instead. Well, Knock Out couldn't exactly say he could blame him. This was a pretty obvious situation and their fates were pretty obviously sealed as well.

The last wrecker was brown and yellow and only a bit smaller than the gray one. He was growling at anyone who stepped in too close. Knock Out let his saw blade drift over one rusty cheek for good measure when the wrecker tried snarling at him as he passed.

All in all, a small enough group for them to keep contained and a large enough catch to milk out a good cycles worth of entertainment from.

"Stop playing-" the same mech snapped at the circling stunticons. "You ain't getting information from us, so get on with it."

Such _bravery_.

Knock Out stepped close to Breakdown and the blue mech patted his back (carefully; the red mech had taught him not to dare scratch his paint). At the start, the other had tried to protect him from the violence of the unit.

They'd learned soon enough that they could bask in it instead.

"Why ruin the fun?" Breakdown retorted, moving his servo back from Knock Out to pound his fists together. The gray wrecker flinched at the noise, though the sniper remained stoically unphased.

For however long that would last. Knock Out knew it wouldn't be forever. Every stoic mech had a snapping point.

"You fragger!" the green mech yelled at him. His arms tugged frantically at cuffs that were strong enough to hold the Big M himself down.

Breaking away from the circle of prowling mechs, Wildrider slipped closer to the huddle of autobots. The stunticon stopped at the pedes of Breakdown's rival and looked down at him quizzically. His processor was likely trying to latch on some thought instead of flowing distracted in the state he tended to.

"You're one of Wheeljack's pals, aren't you?" Wildrider leaned down into the green autobots face. The wrecker's cringe back came to a short stop when his head hit anothers.

"Ooh-" the gray stunticon brushed his claws over the other's jaw and pulled his chin up. It left the wide neck exposed. "I bet," Wildrider whispered right against the wrecker's audials- "I bet he'd be just so hurt if you were hurt. Am I right?"

Little more than a nano of silence passed before the stunticon had reared up in fury. "Well?" he snapped and landed a kick at the autobot's leg. "Am I? Don't make me waste my time pulling you apart if he won't be sparkbroken over it!"

And that was a perfect way for him to answer, was it? It wasn't like this bot could just say he didn't care at all about 'Wheeljack', the autobot Wildrider was so completely obsessed with that he had taken a nearly identical altmode, and spare himself the brunt of the stunticon's anger. Oh no, that wasn't an option at all.

Knock Out shook his head. Wildrider truly was an idiot.

Although none of the stunticons exactly had a genius among them. Really, it was one of the perks of travelling with the group; Knock Out always had the assurement that he would be the smartest in the room.

Heatseeker rolled his shoulders with a resounding 'crack'. "Come on. I'm bored. Let's toast one."

Every other decepticon in the area formed the exact same smile. The wreckers bristled up.

"Alright," Wildrider rubbed his servos together and finally stepped away from the pile of autobots. "Which one first? Your pick, Dead End-"

"No."

"-Your pick-" the lunatic adjusted smoothly and turned from the nihilistic con to face the red medic. "Darling doctor."

Oh? Knock Out reeled from being included for just a moment. The stunticons, following their commander Motormaster's lead, tended to pretend he didn't exist. This was one of those rare times they not only remembered him, but included him...

And Knock Out did like to feel included.

He cast his glance over the pile of tense wreckers. Hm, there was always the one Breakdown disliked. But this was too anticlimactic. His assistant deserved a more fitting end to that rivalry. There were the two quiet wreckers. Either of them would be suitably terrified to be chosen.

Oh, but that rusty one had been annoyingly loud for the last half a jour. Knock Out lifted a manicured finger and pointed at the mech.

There was a beat of silence. Then the wreckers were fighting their restraints with far more passion. The soon-to-be dead mech bit at the stunticons that grabbed his shoulders. Soft metal bent under his jaws but Wildrider hardly seemed to notice any pain.

The chosen wrecker was thrown down a few meters from the other three and the stunticons went wild. Knock Out was able to dive in and out of the chaos, jabbing with his prod, but his size made it hard to truly belong with these mechs.

Heatseeker punched Wildrider away and the mad mech rolled up to his pedes with a fury. While the culprit raised a servo to shoot a missile into the bleeding wrecker, his ally ran full force into him. As those two grappled, Breakdown moved over the fallen autobot.

The other wreckers were shouting; threatening them, pleading for them to leave their compatriot alone, the works. Breakdown let one arm rest on his crouching leg; the servo was positioned directly over the injured wrecker's head.

"Why should I?" the blue mech asked.

It was the green wrecker that answered. His call was hard to hear over the sound of Wildrider and Heatseeker scuffling, but Breakdown heard it nonetheless. "Just fight me. Let Oxide go. Your fight's with me."

Stupid wrecker. Knock Out rolled his optics. The blue stunticon seemed to consider it.

"Seems fair, I guess," he said and the green wrecker's face went from horror to hope. Breakdown moved up from his crouch slowly, almost standing, hammer still in the air, and-

The stunticon dropped down into the crouch with deadly speed. The weapon dropped with all the same forced and crashed through the head of the autobot. A spurt of static left the crushed helm; it mixed with the sounds of grief and rage coming from the other three wreckers.

Breakdown lifted his dripping hammer and looked at the remaining autobots.

"Oops. How clumsy of me."

The green mech howled in anger. Big arms strained against the stasis cuffs to no avail. The skinny wrecker looked away from the carnage in wild grief.

Ah, Knock Out loved this mech. The rest of them...not so much.

"Oh, would you stop?" Dead End looked up from inspecting his own servos to hiss at the noise the big wrecker was making. "Get over it. Everyone dies."

"I'LL KILL YOU!" the green wrecker screamed at him. It only made the wiry stunticon tilt his head to the side.

It wasn't a look Knock Out liked to see on Dead End.

Although that mech just unsettled him no matter what he was doing.

"I'll be dead sooner or later," the stunticon countered darkly, "But I think you'll be offlined first."

And that should have been the case. It really should have.

But that was a cycle where nothing happened as it should have.

A grenade rolled into the still scuffling stunticons. They paused their fight, looked at it, and then panicked. Both tangled and untangled together to get away before it exploded.

The blast still caught them in the back. Heatseeker howled in pain. Wildrider was cackling with laughter even as his back was a mess of burnt metal and impaled shrapnel.

Dead End slid into combat readiness. The green mech's blank face twitched to catch sight of the attackers.

But Knock Out had a bad feeling he already knew who it was. Wreckers.

And then the small white fighter leaped over a nearby half wall and sprinted towards them. Both swords were already out and his battle mask kept his expression from being all that readable. The wrecker ran to the green mech's side and was immediately feeling him over in concern before turning his furious stare on the still standing decepticons.

A large orange mech charged through the half wall, breaking it and never stalling in his stride. Ironhide. Oh, Knock Out did not want to be here when that guy was.

More and more wreckers appeared in the gap that Ironhide had made in the wall. Breakdown had backed away from Oxide's corpse until he was standing in front of Knock Out.

"Fight?" the blue mech asked.

That was probably what the stunticon wanted to do. But Knock Out?

He knew when he saw a losing battle.

"Drive," he answered and folded down into his alt mode. The two of them sped away without stalling to wait for the other stunticons.

* * *

The equator was disgusting.

Knock Out shivered at the feel of its sticky air. This was the type of humidity and temperature that was sure to peel his paint job.

Nearby, Bulkhead stretched overhead and then let his arms drop casually.

"So." There was a moment of silence. "Looks like we're here."

"Are you always so observant?" Knock Out replied and earned a glare. It didn't seem all that hostile though.

The awkward silence returned. Bulkhead walked forward a few steps and looked over the black rock covering the ground.

"See any relics?" he asked. The medic glanced about lazily before saying no.

"Huh." Bulkhead went thoughtful. Then he opened a comm line: "Base, we can't find any sight of the relic. Can you reconfirm coordinates?"

The voice of the human child Raf replied.

_«Triangulating your position.»_

They waited a nano for the triangulation to complete.

_«You're at the correct location.»_

The two shared a glance. Knock Out felt the urge to sigh. If only Hardshell, bragging idiot that he had been, had included more about where he'd found the Tox-En in his stories about 'killing the wrecker'.

"The coordinates must be wrong, 'cause there's nothing here," Bulkhead argued. Instead of joining in on the conversation, Knock Out started to walk over the cooled lava to look for anything remotely relic-like. Hmm. Yes, black rock. More black rock. My, my, was that a touch of gray?

"Hey, Doc Knock!" Bulkhead called over to him. The medic turned slowly, with an expression halfway between being amused at the nickname and offended.

"We got company," the wrecker finished.

Well, that was not the news he wanted to hear.

"Do we go for cover?" Knock Out asked. The green mech shrugged.

"Is that what you and Breakdown like to do? Naw," he shook his head, "We'll fight."

The purple jets overhead swooped down and Bulkhead transformed his servos to guns.

That was that, Knock Out supposed. He reached for his staff and spun it forward.

Looked like Bulkhead was a bit too much like his usual partner; both the big lugs had the annoying habit of sticking around to fight when they could just drive.

At this rate, finding the Tox-En was going to take longer than any of the other's hunts for the other relics.

And here Knock Out had so hoped for the two of them to arrive back at base first.

* * *

Motormaster was murderous. The giant of a mech prowled between his stunticons.

"You had four wreckers in your grasps," he seethed, "Four. Wreckers. The very enemies we were created to destroy. And you let the rest of the wreckers get them back alive?"

Hopping from one pede to the other in cooped up impatience, Wildrider rolled his optics.

"We killed one of 'em. And it was Wheeljack's fault. He showed up with his pals and blew the others away. If-"

"I DON'T CARE-" Motormaster backhanded the mad mech into the wall of the warehouse they were camped in. "I am SICK of your obsession with that mech. So Shut. Up. Another mention of his name and I'-"

Dead End sighed from where he was sitting. "And so we lose Wildrider. Oh well. He lasted longer than he should of."

The comment did not go unnoticed. Motormaster turned on him and stalked over. Purple optics were full of fury.

But then they moved up from the unflinching Dead End to meet Knock Out's. The commander slowed down. His persona grew calm and forcibly friendly. It made the medic shiver to see.

"Doctor." Motormaster smiled and motioned him forward. Knock Out had no desire to approach. But he took a few steps and Breakdown moved with him, positioning his bigger body in front as a protection. The commander's optics flickered from this defense to the medic and back. His smile stayed false and near breaking point.

"I heard from Heatseeker that you ran today," the giant said slowly. "I heard you left my boys behind and turned tail. And Breakdown-" he looked down at the blue mech and shook his head playfully. "I heard you followed. That's not what I want my troop to do. You know that, don't you?"

Breakdown didn't immediately respond. He was so tense that Knock Out swore he could feel it just by standing close by.

A huge servo motioned forward, then grabbed Breakdown's chassis and pulled him forward off the ground when the blue mech didn't obey fast enough. His assistant's orange faceplate was lifted closely to Motormaster's vicious one.

"Don't you?" the commander repeated sweetly.

"I-I-"

The servo that wasn't holding Breakdown up launched into the blue mech's gut. Knock Out heard mechanisms crack and snap.

"You piece of SLAG! Useless, paranoid, little coward!" Motormaster yelled and punched again. His claws found one of Breakdown's flailing arms and snapped it. The useless limb dangled from its shoulder while the blue mech screamed. "Turncoat! Traitor! Fragger!"

A fragment of his wide chassis tore off and clattered to the ground. Knock Out stared at it as if frozen. He could hear every clang, every hit, every garble of pain.

"You chose that weakling over your family!"

Oh. Now Motormaster was talking about him, wasn't he? The medic was still staring at the piece of armor.

He'd installed that armor onto Breakdown's chest. He'd modded the mech up until he had felt comfortable with himself.

Motormaster was still yelling. Nearby, Wildrider was sitting on the edge of a counter and giggling like mad. Dead End was watching the beating with uncharacteristic interest.

Another part of armor hit the ground. Another spray of energon flew from another opened vein. Breakdown was pounding at Motormaster's arms, but the commander would not lose his grip.

Knock Out tore his gaze away from the armor fragment and looked at the stunticons. One servo slipped into subspace and returned with the familiar feeling of his staff in his grip.

A quick stare was afforded the room. Obviously, either of the other two scrapheaps would attack if Motormaster was injured.

So they'd need to go first.

Besides. They'd ratted Breakdown out.

Before Wildrider noticed him, Knock Out was at his side. The staff slid deep into his gut and unleashed high voltage.

Of course, normally debilitating pain never did keep the gray stunticon down. Knock Out transformed his free servo into his spinning saw blade and cut deep into the crazed mech's chest.

Moving forward, Dead End moved to attack him. Knock Out ducked under his swipe of the claws and swung his blade arm across the other mech's chassis. As Dead End backstepped, a sound of something large dropping occurred behind him. The medic paid no attention. He moved in quick until he was behind the sickly green mech and had grabbed at his helm.

From here, Knock Out could see Motormaster where the giant mech was standing. The stunticon leader was frozen in shock. Both his servos, stained with Breakdown's energon, were empty and his optics were wide.

"No..." he murmured, looking over the fallen Wildrider and then at Knock Out's handling of Dead End. The medic's saw blade had moved to rest against the stunticon's neck. "Doctor, stop-" Motormaster tried. Though Knock Out couldn't say for sure, he felt like the confusion thick in the commanders voice was genuine. "Don't kill your own unit."

What a high position to sit on after he'd just spent the last few moments tearing Breakdown apart. Knock Out grinned at the big mech and tore his blade through Dead End's unresisting neck.

"Why not?" the medic asked as he stepped over the twitching body. "Seems perfectly normal around here to me."

"You fragger!" Motormaster roared and all the previous anger returned. "You were one of us!"

Really? Really? He was trying to play into a loyalty Knock Out had never once pretended to have?

The medic twirled his staff up again to face down the much larger mech. Motormaster snarled and clenched his fists. On the ground, Breakdown spat fluids and looked at Knock Out desperately.

Probably expected the medic to disappoint him. That's what this unit did. Over and over, they had to have been disappointing Breakdown.

Well, Knock Out wouldn't. Knock Out was far above any of these scrapheaps. And he'd show it to Breakdown too.

He'd show him what real affection looked like and bask in the worship the blue mech would, in turn, pour on him.

And the first way he'd show him that real affection?

It would be to tear apart this mech who'd lorded over the stunticons for far too long.

Motormaster swung first. The hit would have caved in his chest and offlined his spark if it had landed. Knock Out knew it. He knew he couldn't afford to let the mech hit him once.

But he so wanted to drag this out.

The staff buried in one of Motormaster's ankle joints and lit up. The leg crumpled and the giant roared. Knock Out pulled his staff free before Motormaster could twist and tear it out.

It hit across the big mech's face and left a line of burnt metal in its wake. The other slapped a servo to his cheek and felt at the burn.

"You-little-"

Whatever he was going to heave out next, Knock Out didn't care to hear. He shoved the staff into Motormaster's shoulder and let it run. Watching such a large mech twitch and writhe to high voltage was even better than playing with those wreckers earlier.

Knock Out let the voltage wear down. Motormaster heaved on the ground. It was to the medic's immense satisfaction when the stunticon leader unconsciously flinched back from his approach.

"You...you sick...little..." Motormaster hissed. One optic was blackened. Aw, whoops, look at that; seems Knock Out had the electricity on a bit too high. His grin returned. The one good optic looked around blurrily until it found his red shape. "Knew...knew you were...sick...seeing what...you'd do...to...to...injured 'bots."

The medic finally arrived. One servo curled around the staff still buried in the stunticon. He gave it a little push and pull just to watch the giant squirm.

"No, no," Knock Out's smile grew wider. "This is_ so much more_ fun than it was with those autobots."

This was what he'd wanted to do since day one. This was what he wanted to do every time he saw Motormaster tear apart his own mechs until they screamed.

The stunticons were never safe for him. They didn't like the medic. He was too new. Didn't belong. Too soft. A wannabe.

Only Breakdown adored him. Only Breakdown worshipped him.

And the blue mech treated him like Knock Out was the best thing to ever happen to the stunticons. After being trapped with their fragger of a leader, he had to agree.

He'd only stuck around in this unit for Breakdown's sake. But now?

Knock Out tugged his staff free after the mech had fallen into stasis and subspaced it. He walked away from Motormaster until he was standing by his assistant.

Both yellow optics were firmly focused on him and not his fallen leader.

Good.

Breakdown didn't need to worry about this stupid unit anymore. He didn't need to worry about his awful 'brothers' or dangerous commander.

From now on, Breakdown was his to protect. From now on, Knock Out was the only squadmate Breakdown needed to be concerned about.

This, this mess of pain and betrayal and abuse, was what happened when Breakdown was allowed to pick his own family.

Knock Out would chose the rest from hereon out.

And really, he scoffed, what was the point of these stupid units anyways? The only mech Breakdown needed was Knock Out alone.

* * *

_AN- Aligned's Dead End and Wildrider are mentioned in "Unreliable Narratives", a script reading. They both are in the Skyquake Pre-Memorial Hospital, critically injured, and are requested by Shockwave as test subjects._

_Since it's never said what exactly put them there, it was free game for this chapter._  
_That said, this doesn't bother to follow the timeline of that script reading all that closely. I fully accept that there are inevitable inconsistencies with the Aligned Continuity Timeline._


	16. Awkward Happenstances

The relic hunts continue. Breakdown and Optimus run afoul Dreadwing; and, with him, Starscream.

_AN- Opener is a flashback in the RID 2015 timeline Knock Out traveled from._

* * *

One last trip down.

The planet was so blue beneath the ship. Such a different shade of the color than the electric living energy of Cybertron's surface.

Cybertron. The planet that was supposed to be home.

The ship went down.

They found each other easily. Arcee had parked outside the Nevada Unit:E facility and the ship decloaked. And Jack was at work inside the facility. He had been there when she hailed their comms and requested permission to land.

Of course she had permission!

Jack tried not to question how odd it was she was asking. Or why she had flown over instead of taking the bridge.

The two partners took a drive to the empty desert the old base used to be at. Jack had asked why she had come.

There was no mistaking that something was wrong.

Arcee had laughed and the bitter betrayal in the sound made his heart ache.

"I wanted to see if I could swing by. Stick around a while." She looked out over the desert. "Think your mom would pitch a fit if I set up camp in your garage again?"

No matter how odd the question seemed, Jack answered normally. "Of course not! We'd both love that, in fact, it's just...why?"

The cybertronian looked down at the human with an expression that revealed exhaustion behind the mirth.

"'cause the planet I fought so hard for doesn't want me around."

And that needed far more explanation. She spoke up about the political state of her homeworld and the people she'd been pulled away from by an unfriendly council.

It wasn't like Jack could exactly blame her for coming back.

"So you want to stay with us?" he asked. "As in, permanently?"

The two-wheeler shrugged. "I don't really have anywhere else to go. Besides, I think I've missed out on too much of my junior partner's progress in the career field. Isn't that right?"

Well, he really would've loved having her around during graduation and all but...

"Are you sure you want to though?" he said instead. "Are you sure you want to settle down on Earth?"

"I thought about pulling a Wheeljack instead," Arcee smirked. "Travelling around. Seeing the sights. I was considering following A...Airachnid's trail. Looking for any survivors she left behind. Just, you know," the two wheeler side and threw some dirt into the breeze. "Doing what I can to help people like me. And people like you; she went after you twice and I-I'll always feel responsible for the trauma she put you and your mother through."

Jack thought of a forest at night. Of heartrending terror. Of a survival kit that was shockingly helpful.

And of his mom, wrapped up in the air, acid and claws getting closer and closer.

Except things ended well for the two of them.

They had not gone so well for his partner.

"Would you want to go?" she asked him. Jack startled; he hadn't even absorbed the offer before he had asked a shocked "What?"

His surprise made her give a dull laugh.

"Yeah. Guess not."

* * *

Woah...

New York was _huge_. And he'd gone to a planet with buildings made for people the height of telephone poles. This city took Jack's breath away.

Miko was mocking him for it.

"Of course," she teased, "It's no Cybertron."

Alright Miko, hah hah. You win.

They putted out of the alley and Jack had to wonder about how empty the streets seemed. With the size of these buildings and the city itself, he expected a million people crowded everywhere.

Maybe they'd seen the _Nemesis_ floating overhead and ditched town? Probably not. Although that would make New Yorkers rather genre savvy to the fact that aliens always attacked their city and the big pointy purple thing in the sky earlier was probably not human in origin.

Put two and two together and...

"Alright 'Face'," Arcee spoke up from her altmode to bring the focus back to the job.

He supposed they really did need to focus on what they were doing.

The four of them found a construction zone in the eerily quiet city and slipped down.

For a while, they prowled together. The teens moved quick to keep up with the steady pace of the two scouts. The autobot guns lit up the tunnel enough for Jack to see the subway rails.

And for him to see where Bumblebee was stepping.

"Bumblebee, don't move!" he told the yellow mech. Pede still in the air, Bumblebee turned to buzz quizzically at him. Unfortunately, without Raf, Jack had about as good a chance understanding the vernacular as he did understanding any of Ratchet's schematics. "The third rail. It carries electricity to power the subway trains. One touch and _zap_! You're fried."

He could tell Miko was glaring at him without even looking. The other teen huffed and crossed her arms.

"Pft. Must've learned it on TV or something."

The girl sure was surly about him interfering on her 'turf' (ie the urban landscape). Honestly, Miko...Jack shook his head.

"It's not a competition, you know," he said to her. Miko looked at him with the same pout.

"I know," she conceded.

Huh. That was almost too ea-

"But I'm still winning."

Uhuh, and _there_ it was. Jack shook his head with a silent laugh and followed her down the tracks.

The bots, still a good few feet in front of them, turned to look down one of the forks in the subway tunnels.

"Drilling." Arcee kept her gun pointed forward and moved with more caution.

All very deserved caution. That much had to be clear when they turned another corner and saw the purple figures of decepticon troopers. The vehicons spun away to point red gun barrels at the bots. The bots tensed up and pointed back.

Miko tried to run forward and catch up.

But that wasn't gonna happen on his watch.

"Wh-hey!" she stuttered and looked searingly at the hand on her thin arm. Jack didn't let up in his mission to tug her away from the soon-to-be-a-battlefield.

He knew what to expect from Miko by now; and running out there into danger seemed right up her alley.

The key word there was 'danger'. And Jack would rather neither of them got hurt today.

Even if it meant putting a pause on the 'not a competition' that he was currently winning.

* * *

Really, he was almost glad for the snowstorm. It made a lot of noise. Better to hear the wind blow than just silence.

Breakdown would feel the instinct to fill a silence. Since his only conversation partner was Prime at the moment, he really would rather...just no. No talk. Not with the autobot leader.

Rather unsurprisingly, Optimus did not talk much either. The Prime motioned in the direction of the triangulated coordinates.

"Be on your guard, Breakdown," he said and the blue mech found it odd to be directed so personally.

But with such a small unit, he supposed the bots could get far more personal with each other. On the warship, most didn't bother getting to know the name of every single fighter. Even Breakdown, who tended to spend more time talking with the vehicons than he did officers, didn't know most of the army's designations.

It had been a few vorns since he'd been in a unit small enough that the commander spoke his name so personably.

He had really thought Knock Out was trying to avoid units like that.  
Yet here they were, on his orders.

"We can expect that the decepticons also have travelled to these coordinates," Optimus continued patiently.

"'Kay." Breakdown shrugged.

Oh, he would never show that sort of disrespect to lo-to Megatron. But no matter how intimidating being near the autobot leader was, Optimus Prime was no warlord.

His plating crawled at his neck when he realized Optimus was still looking at him. Breakdown felt the instinctive need to draw his head closer to his body; he squashed down on the instinct and fell back on his other reaction-

Which unfortunately tended to be looking for a fight. That wasn't going to work here either.

"I am here to work closely alongside you," the autobot leader said. "An evaluation, if you will, on both our parts."

That didn't sound reassuring at all.

"Your partner informed me of your decision to follow his steps into the autobot faction," Optimus went on. "But that he was the one to tell me rather than yourself has given me the impression you are still unsure about your place among us."

Breakdown tried to think of something to say.

"This mission is our first chance to work together without the others. I would like us to take this opportunity to determine what role you would be best suited for in the future," the Prime finished. "Now is the chance for you to inform me of what you hope to find among our small unit. Please do not be hesitant to do so."

The snow blew around them. Frost had already built up on both their painted plating.

"...yeah. Okay."

And with that they finally started to move through the snow.

Since they had bridged a good mile from the coordinates, both of them transformed to drive. Through the storm, it was hard to see what shapes lay in the distance. But soon enough, a dark blue and gold blob joined shapes of purple and silver; and that was not exactly a mistakeable sight.

Optimus transformed first. The Prime looked out at the decepticons that had not seemed to notice them yet. Breakdown joined him in rootmode.

So, Dreadwing. It had been a bit. Last time Breakdown had seen him was when the seeker was telling him not to chase after Airachnid alone.

He had to wonder, if he had listened to the other con, would he be stuck in this predicament with the bots?

There was a tall silver shape with the others. If he had to bet, he would assume it was Starscream. And the officers had vehicons with him. So far, Breakdown had fought against the squishes that had tried to pull him apart and the insecticons that Airachnid had gotten herself.

This would be the first fight he'd have with actual decepticons.

It made the still-very loyal part of him twitch in discomfort.

"We will approach with caution. Expect a fight."

It was a fight Prime probably could win even without Breakdown. With him? Easy prey.

But Breakdown hadn't really ever fought vehicon troopers before. Not seriously at least. Not to the death.

"Wait," he spoke up and drew Optimus's full attention. It was rather eerie how the Prime himself could narrow all his focus on one bot.

And Optimus waited.

Alright, well that answered one question Breakdown never would have asked.

"What if we trap them?" he finally continued. "Knock Out and I do that sometimes. He'll go get all the attention and then I'll strike from the side."

Optimus nodded.

"A worthy plan. If you can drive to where the troopers and Starscream are holding up from above the ridge, then by all means surprise them. But," the bigger mech grew more solemn, "there is the chance that you will be seen or heard."

Breakdown shrugged. "I'm not scared of a fight," he countered and Optimus let out a little hum. He had the feeling that hum was judgemental in some way.

How did Knock Out stand talking with this guy? It didn't make sense to him. His partner didn't like being judged last he'd checked.

And he didn't know why the medic acted like Breakdown should be liking this. Like he should be gushing and celebrating,_ 'oh, I get to be an autobot, oh a badge, whee'_; Knock Out was supposed to know that Breakdown didn't like feeling judged. Especially not by a commander. Lo- Megatron was an exception, if just because Megatron so obviously judged everyone. His criticism after Breakdown had lost an optic had hurt. His mocking about Breakdown not being able to do the jobs given him hurt. Of course they did. And in hindsight, it deserved to; he _had_ failed to get the polarity gauntlet and he had failed to kill Airachnid.

But the Prime...he wasn't judging everyone. He was nice to his scout and nice to old Bulkhead and soft and weak and it made it so much worse when he turned those blue optics Breakdown's way to question his every move with a mere 'hm'.

"Be careful."

Wait. Breakdown's optic narrowed. That wasn't the response he'd thought he had read in that blue state. He wasn't sure whether to take those two words as an insult to his skill or feel honored that it seemed to matter to the commander.

"Um, boss," he spoke up again. As he had last time, Optimus stopped his movements transform and waited. "So, about the plan. You're expecting a fight, but the only big threats over there are Dreadwing and Starscream."

"They are both exceptionally dangerous foes," the other said plainly. Breakdown barked a laugh.

"Well, yeah, though I could take 'Screamer easy. But the others are all just troopers," he said. When that didn't seem to receive the response he thought was appropriate, Breakdown rolled his optic. "I happen to like alot of my troopers. Sure, we bust heads and all when they mess up a simple op, but-"

And then Optimus was standing in front of him and had set a servo on his shoulder. Breakdown was so surprised at the contact that he failed to shift away.

"I see."

And that was all he said. Prime stepped back and transformed. His engines rumbled and the semi started forward slowly.

Breakdown stood there a moment with his mouth hanging open.

He quite truly did not know how he felt about what had just happened.

But he did realize that his makeshift plan would fail if he didn't get moving. The blue mech transformed as well and drove for the snowy ridge.

* * *

"Funny," Wheeljack said as he piloted. Sitting in the one and only passenger seat, Ratchet braced himself for a comment that was almost guaranteed to not actually be _funny_. "First he calls me in to watch you during that spider debacle," the wrecker cast a glance at the seated medic, "'now Prime thinks you need backup here, huh?"

Ha ha. As he'd suspected, the humor part of the comment was lacking.

"If you must know," Ratchet argued, "Optimus still feels strongly that you need _my_ supervision."

The pilot looked away with both brows raised at that.

"Oh," he said and it oozed disbelief. "I'll be sure to be on my best behavior then, doc."

Ratchet groaned. Enough with the nickname already-

No respect with these wreckers, he swore. Bulkhead always destroying tools he needed, Wheeljack always giving him grief; no respect at all.

"P-le-ase," the medic blustered in protest, "Don't call me 'doc'."

It seemed that biting the bait only made Wheeljack's little smirk grow.

"Whatever you say," the wrecker looked lazily at him again and paused before adding, "Sunshine."

Oh, for crying out loud.

Ratchet threw his servos up in grumbling defeat.

"We are on a mission of grave importance," he said. "Trying to keep weapons of mass destruction away from decepticon servos. Would it kill you to take this seriously?"

"Relax," the other waved at him calmly. "No worries, doc. I've got your back."

For the love of-

"My name is not doc," _or Sunshine or any of the like,_ Ratchet shot back. "And I don't require anyone watching my back! I proved my metal during the war for Cybertron."

And he had. He was a field medic who'd spent countless vorns on the battlefield; sometimes for medicine and sometimes to fight. Optimus knew he was fully capable. Younger, sprier mechs could do very well to learn it.

And Wheeljack wasn't even young. Just endearingly aggravating like young rookies tended to be, that was all.

The wrecker shot something back about his battlefield prowess that felt very sarcastic to him. It made Ratchet grumble in defeat again.

This mech would be the death of him yet.

Unfortunately, that seemed to be far less like sarcasm when Soundwave and Laserbeak began to fly behind the _Jackhammer_.

* * *

The commander finished driving up and approached the already armed seeker.

"Optimus Prime," Dreadwing greeted with a frown. "I will request only once that you surrender the relic."

From the top of the ridge where Breakdown lay, he could hear the Prime's response.

"I was going to request the same of you, Dreadwing."

Without being in the middle of combat or conversation himself, Breakdown was able to think uninhibited.

And currently he was musing over the fact that both Prime and Dreadwing tended to speak painfully slowly. They wasted so much good potential battle time just by making sure to enunciate each word.

Down below, it looked like hostilities had already erupted. The sounds of clashing drifted up the howling wind (the same wind that's noise concealed his sounds of transformation on the ridge top).

When the spots of blue and gold and red disappeared into the snowstorm, Breakdown took that as his cue. The mech hoisted himself over the edge of the ice and slid down the cliff. Snow and ice tore lose as his pedes skidded down the surface.

"-a stalemate would leave us whe... _what_?"

Starscream turned his head up as the ice clattered down and his face went comically exaggerated in surprised fear.

Pft, coward. Breakdown wasn't nearly on a track close enough to actually hit him.

The blue mech crashed down to his pedes and felt the shockwaves rush through him at impact. Then he straightened up and saw-

Two sets of guns staring him down.

The vehicons hadn't shot yet though. Small comforts, right?

"Hey-" he frowned at them. "Put those down. You don't want to try it."

From the way the two looked at each other for directions, they didn't.

Starscream shoved his way past them to look at Breakdown better. It was only now that the blue mech noticed that the gray seeker was stuck in cuffs.

Huh. Looked like he hadn't been let back into the cons. Tough break for Starscream.

"You! Breakdown!" the seeker waved his restrained claws at the grounder. "Release me of these shackles now!"

Always so demanding. Breakdown chuckled and shook his head.

No, that really didn't sound tempting. And it sounded even less helpful for Prime.

Optimus may make him feel uncomfortable and he may still not care much for being an autobot, but the cards had already been laid down. He had already picked his ally for this fight. And he wasn't about to add extra problems for said ally by letting this maniac go.

Starscream's optics narrowed at his indecision. One of the vehicons grabbed the seeker's arms to shove him back.

"Comma...Breakdown..." the other trooper started, obviously unsure.

He-. He really didn't want to kill these guys. Breakdown wished they'd just leave. But that wasn't a good move to have on a con's track record if they wanted Megatron to leave them be. Chances were low they would.

"Come on," the blue mech gestured with his hammer to the white wasteland behind him. "Get out of here."

That seemed to brighten the captive seeker's mood considerably. Starscream perked up and tried to push forward again.

"Yes, do. In the meantime," the red glare bore into him. "I do believe you owe me one."

Breakdown only then realized that he should've seen that coming.

"Yes," Starscream continued gleefully. "I remember quite clearly. You have a debt with me. And it is time to choose sides."

The troopers couldn't seem to decide which of them to point their weapons at. The seeker lifted his arms towards Breakdown in waiting with a cocky smirk.

This was all a bit much. Seemed like too many decisions to be making all right now but-

But he did owe that debt.

He stepped close and brought the servo that was not a hammer yet over the cuffs. They would be easy for him to tear right off. The vehicons lifted their guns and the weapons hummed.

Of course that was when Optimus returned from the storm.

Both troopers looked away to stare at the latest threat. With their guns off him, Breakdown crushed the middle of the cuffs and Starscream's smile grew.

The Prime lifted his own guns up. The ex-stunticon stepped away from the seeker to move near Optimus.

"Hey-" he started, looking between the stalemate that would break into shooting any moment. "What'd I say earlier?"

He turned to glare at the troopers. "Get out of here."

They didn't. But they hadn't shot yet.

Soon as they started shooting, Prime would shoot back and then it was done. Breakdown didn't mind smashing most opponents, but the drones on the _Nemesis_...He just didn't know. They were all pretty decent mechs. Scared, always worried they'd be the next to go, but personable and good listeners. Probably better listeners than his own partner was.

"And I thought we were gonna let them go," he turned to Prime accusingly. A beat passed. Then one of Optimus's guns turned into a servo; the appendage motioned passively at the waiting vehicons.

"Stand down," the commander stated evenly.

Of course, that never did work.

But this time it wasn't the vehicons faults.

Moving closer, Starscream looked between Breakdown and Optimus closely. Their postures. Their words.

It was too easy to decipher. And the seeker was no idiot; he deciphered it all quite fast.

"Oh, no." Starscream's optics were angry slits. "You did _not_ let _him_ in."

Optimus didn't immediately respond. Breakdown couldn't help but look smug.

A mistake on his part. One that joined the list right behind letting honor and scrap dictate freeing Starscream moments before.

The seeker turned his claws on the nearest trooper ferally. They punctured through his back and the red visor went gray. Too slow to react, the second fell to the same set of claws; Starscream jabbed them through the vehicon's helm and then tore past the body even as it was still crumpling to the ground.

For some reason, the seeker tried to sprint away over the ice instead of flying. Optimus folded down and drove after the running rogue. Only a nano or two behind, Breakdown followed. It was the Prime that reached Starscream first. He leapt up from alt mode and crashed down into the slight form.

Breakdown transformed when he reached them a moment later. He stood on the snow and watched the seeker trash and spit at Optimus, who had pinned him down easily.

It seemed to him that this was the angriest he had ever seen the volatile flightframe.


	17. Starscream Flips His Metal Wig

Bulkhead and Knock Out feel the effects of Tox-En. An energon deprived Starscream determines he wants to murder everyone and now seems to have the means to do so.

_Title is in reference to Fowler's random comment in Nemesis Prime._

* * *

Maybe there was a reason this guy didn't seem to fight.

Maybe it was Primus's way of playing favorites for the bots. After all, when he was on the receiving end of this deadly skill, it seemed to Wheeljack that the small autobot army on earth would have been easily defeated if the tall con were to fight more often.

From the ground, the wrecker sneered upwards defiantly. He'd done a good job with the fight at least. The crack on Soundwave's before perfect visor attained to that.

For a few moments of the fight, he'd thought he could win too.

Giving the taunt about last words hadn't been his wisest moment. Wheeljack really should have just struck fast and hard. Cut through that spindly neck, kept an optic out for those data cables, kept his guard up.

Overconfidence. Ultra Magnus would be frowning at him. Probably say something pompous about 'smug wreckers' and their propensity for 'messing everything up'.

Yeah. Frag you too Magnus. Even when the commander was a galaxy away, his criticisms followed Wheeljack.

Soundwave looked over the resonance blaster. Or he seemed to be looking it over. Who knew what he was doing behind that mask.

Who knew if that even was a mask and not a face itself?

Well, in the least, if that was his face, Wheeljack could understand a bit better why he'd be so mad about the crack.

Battlefield rumors had always been spread around about this con. No one wanted to face the silent spymaster except those who were confident glory seekers.

Heh. Yeah, that was him alright. But this hadn't just been about putting battlefield rumors to rest. He was trying to keep Soundwave distracted. Keep him away from Ratchet while the doc did his trick with the bird.

And he'd had an upper servo in the fight at times. He'd felt invigorated, really. Soundwave was a real opponent. The con took the entire battle seriously instead of ever seeming to underestimate the wrecker.

Wheeljack liked a good, dirty, serious fight. And he had 'shattered expectations'; always did and always would so long as there were people like Magnus out there underestimating him.

The resonance blaster pointed down at him. He stiffened as much as his injured form could.

Well. No more shattering expectations. Looked like Magnus and the rest of the doubters were right.

Somewhere in the forest, the doc was gonna have to face Soundwave down too.

That felt even more like a failure than the mere fact that he had lost this fight.

And then-

The killing blow never came.

Soundwave's visor jerked away, 'looking' out in the direction of the forest. Schematics- no, coordinates- lit up on the cracked screen.

It was the drone. Laserbeak. And Ratchet was still with that bird.

In a moment though, he'd be dead and not have to worry about how the doc was about to be in scrap.

Except he wasn't killed. Except Soundwave flew away without sparing him another nano of attention.

The wrecker pushed slowly up on his arms and stared at the departing con in confusion. It wasn't like it was a matter of time constraints. Soundwave could've easily killed him and then flew away to save his drone. Time wise, it would have made no difference.

So what the scrap was that about? Wheeljack's optics narrowed.

It was weird. What sort of decepticon didn't take any excuse to kill an enemy?

* * *

Starscream was doing his best to kill them both.

He really was.

But it wasn't exactly easy to get someone the size of Megatron himself off him.

Not for lack of trying though.

The mech above him pressed him down further into the ice. Its unyielding solid weight pressed against his wings.

It meant he should probably stop thrashing around.

Starscream did nothing of the kind. Much to the Prime's frustration.

"Discontinue this struggling," Optimus ordered, holding the flailing seeker down.

Hah, yes, and he was in such a position to follow any orders the Prime threw around.

"Get off me!" Starscream yelled back and tried to hit at the mech. Unfortunately, his servos were still being held down to the ground and his hope went nowhere.

"Calm down," the Prime replied, "And I will."

He wasn't an idiot! He had figured that much out already!

No need to treat him like he was too slow to realize the disadvantages of his current struggle.

Such thinking made him thrash a bit more in good measure. Then he made himself calm down. As low as he was on energon, Starscream really couldn't afford to keep burning fuel through useless frantic movements.

_"Now get off,"_ he hissed dangerously. The Prime moved slowly up, one servo returning to its gun mode and its barrel pointing at him. Funny how all these big dangerous cannons tended to look him down.

"Lead us to the relic."

Oh ho! Demanding, was he? All Starscream needed to do was look at the blue grounder by Prime's side to know his answer to any autobot demands.

"Ordering me around?" the seeker chuckled, "Do you think I am one of your autobots?"

Before Optimus could answer, Starscream had sat up and all mirth was buried in rage. "Apparently you'll let anyone in these days. But not me-" he seethed "-No, I distinctly remembered what my efforts to join you led to."

The wind howled around them. Optimus's gun arm didn't dip but Starscream thought he heard him sigh.

"Tell me, really, be honest," the seeker stabbed at the air to point at Breakdown. "After everything I've done for the autobots; helping restore your memory, saving Arcee's life, offering my valuable intel- you toss me aside oh so righteously yet pick this scrapheap up? You would take our previous alliances for granted, but let him walk with you without any of the shackles you had me in when I had attempted to do the same?"

Breakdown had the audacity to cross his arms and smirk.

It made Starscream boil with the desire to tear that smarmy expression off.

Optimus didn't change his expression. He kept his stare on Starscream and it seemed to the seeker to be just one step away from hostile. No matter how angry he felt, Starscream still wanted to flinch away from that stare. He was outnumbered, outgunned, and unable to fly away. Nothing about this situation seemed hopeful or advantageous.

"While you have proved beneficial to us, it has only been to further you own interests," the Prime stated.

Oh? When he tried to leave the only faction he was still seemingly important enough to for Megatron to have dug him from that cave, just so he could throw himself on the enemy? That had been furthering his interests...how?

Starscream knew a few reasons why, but he refused to entertain those thoughts so long as he was going to sit here in indignation.

Which, until either of these two turned on each other or he was able to strike at either, seemed to be exactly what he was going to be forced to do.

"We can't all be as selfless as you, now can we?" he sneered. Both servos moved to his lap, unassuming. Not standing yet. Not dangerous. _Him_? No, not dangerous _at all._

_Come now Arcee. Look, he's pathetic. He won't open those cuffs to seal his doom._

How good (although absolutely infuriating) it was to be underestimated.

"Though what a hypocrite you are," he went on, looking away from the Prime to glare at Breakdown. "Furthering my interests, you say? But you let Breakdown fight alongside you and wherever he follows, the mad doctor does as well. Do you believe they aren't furthering their best interests? Then you do not know Knock Out at all."

It made his plating bristle to hear the grounder laugh instead of grow nervous at what he had hoped would be seeds of doubt.

"You still go around bragging 'bout snuffing Cliffjumper every hour?" Breakdown asked, "Now, I may be reaching, but seems to me that wouldn't exactly make you sound all that promising for them."

_Oh, he would pull this mech apart-_

"You're no saint either," Starscream leered darkly. "Or does the Prime not know your track record? The way he pontificates about being so righteous makes me think he does not."

He would have willingly spilt all those juicy details if Optimus hadn't cut them both off.

"Starscream. It would be wise for you to lead us to the relic."

Veiled threats were still threats, the seeker thought sharply.

But it seemed this lovely chat was over.

Perhaps if it had just been the Prime here, Starscream would have tried to curry favor. Perhaps he could of played the sycophant and the hopeful neutral.

Maybe he could have acted helpful in an attempt to once again barter a place among the security of a faction.

The presence of another decepticon traitor, seemingly so flawlessly integrated among the autobots who had so pointedly turned him down, ruined that possibility. Starscream considered himself a pragmatic mech. He did.

Pragmatically, it would be best to help. Doing so offered a win/win scenario: either his enemies wipe each other out or one of them repays his sparkfelt kindness with energon.

But the seeker had his limits.

And there was no chance that he would lick the pedes of these two ungrateful slaggers.

Oh no.

He would make the Prime pay for turning him down and accepting useless grounders.

He would.

* * *

The first vehicon went down from Bulkhead's gunshot. The second flew too low and Knock Out caught one wing with his staff. The ensuing volts brought it to a crash on the black igneous rock.

Like most scouting groups, there weren't many of them. The final drone made a spin in the air that Starscream would be proud of and shot away.

Bulkhead dropped his arm back down.

"Huh." He looked over at the medic. "Guess that means he'll be back."

"With company, no doubt," Knock Out agreed.

That got them both moving.

The wrecker was shockingly good at tracking. His plan was to follow the lava flow downhill. Bulkhead believed that the flow could've carried the relic away from the coordinates.

Knock Out had never realized the rural strategy skills of the mech before on Cybertron. There, he'd just seen the mech doing his construction efforts and on the occasional movie night.

The green guy seemed like a natural comic relief character rather than anyone with uniquely earned skills.

He had a feeling his Arcee would be scolding him for that sort of thinking. Primus, this world's Arcee probably would too.

Knock Out let himself stew a bit in the disappointment that he wasn't with her on her relic hunt in the city right now.

Why would Optimus stick him here, in the blistering humidity, with the mech that his partner kind of, well, hated?

Fact was that the Prime probably had a good reason. Knock Out just hadn't figured it out yet.

But he made the determination to ask Optimus when he got back.

At the same time, he remembered what he'd told the big guy weeks earlier. _"I want to fight for teammates"_. Wasn't Bulkhead a teammate?

If the wrecker had shown up at that little base the medic and Brainstorm were holed up at, wouldn't he be ecstatic?

He was determined, then, to make this little outing work. They'd get the toxic relic and return to base as better allies. They could be friends and his position among the autobots would get a little bit more intertwined, a little more important and secured.

"Hey Raf," Bulkhead spoke over the joint comm and brought Knock Out out of his plotting. "I-We've got a bead on the relic."

The voice that spoke back was decidedly not that of a prepubescent human teen.

_«Raf is busy»_ said that one squishy Knock Out had abducted once- _«I'll take it from here.»_

Bulkhead glanced over at the medic and made a face of amused disbelief. The red mech returned it.

The human, oblivious to the faces they were making at his words, made no comment.

"Fowler?" the wrecker laughed. "How was your beauty sleep?"

_«Fine. Dreamt I finally got some respect from you.»_

That drew a snort of laughter from the so-far silent ex-con.

"Witty," he remarked lowly without much thought.

His companion responded to the agent without vocally acknowledging the remark. "Keep dreaming," he laughed.

They shared another amused glance. Knock Out flashed him a grin and Bulkhead met it with a thumbs up.

How fun conversations behind someone's back were, he remembered. That had been a hobby he'd mostly given up while playing a model autobot on the newly reborn Cybertron.

But it was all in good fun, wasn't it? Surely it had to be if the wrecker and human were up to it.

The conversation was interrupted when they hopped down one of the cooled lava ridges and saw something gray. A cybertronian cylinder.

Bulkhead moved for it first. Trailing behind, Knock Out kept his staff out and ready for any surprise visitors.

He couldn't exactly say he was surprised when the wreckers good spirits sank swiftly.

"Oh."

It was exactly what Hardshell had reported to the Nemesis in that other life. Bulkhead said as much a moment later:

"Base? We have a problem."

* * *

With a roar, Dreadwing broke out of the snow prison the Prime had dropped upon him.

The large seeker spent a moment heaving. Then he stepped forward and found his sword where it had been discarded on the disrupted ice.

What purpose was frozen water to play in keeping him down? The Prime had not tried to dispatch him.

It was a mistake Dreadwing intended to take advantage of.

With worn steps, he moved out of the enclave their battle had taken them to. On the flat snow, he saw what remained of his vehicon squadron.

So the Prime would throw him under powder but would kill the drones? Such typical autobot hyp-

Wait. Dreadwing crouched down by the corpses to take a closer look.

These wounds were not dealt by the short blades of the Prime. These were thin claw marks.

This was Starscream's doing.

XL- S33Y. XL- TY19. The missing in action. The ones these two soldiers had asked him to find.

He knew the names of those he had never once met, but failed to recognize the designations of these soldiers in his command.

With a sigh, Dreadwing left behind the scene of his failure.

He had two traitors to catch and a Prime to defeat.

* * *

Armor. It was armor.

And there was no one here to claim it but himself.

The others had gone away to fight. The Prime had implied that Breakdown should stay and guard their 'prisoner', but the blue mech had charged out at the first sign of battle and first insult to his honor.

Truly, Starscream could not have felt more blessed.

They would tear at each other and forget that he was left with the relic.

_Small_ little seeker. _Weak_ scrawny seeker. Kept around to be Megatron's punching bag, nothing more. Lost his one skill when he lost his T-Cog.

Oh how he loved breaking these preconceived notions (and their spines while he was at it).

And they had given him the perfect opportunity to do so.

Besides. Even without all that, Starscream liked the sound of armor. He was slim for aerodynamics and flight superiority. But it left him exposed. It left him vulnerable to Megatron's unhappy moods or hypocritical autobots.

With this-this-_Apex_ armor...

He would never be hurt again.

* * *

Knock Out had been listening to these two go at it for the last breem.

_"When were you ever behind enemy lines?"_

_«I wasn't always a bot sitter.»_

He hadn't decided if it was amusing to overhear or if he was annoyed they weren't paying attention to him.

_"Next you're going to tell me you mother doesn't tuck you in at night."_

_«Not since basic training.»_

At least the three of them were having fun.

As much as they could when Tox-En was affecting them both.

It seemed like every step they took was ten times harder than it should have been. When they were driving, both their engines strained.

_«I was an army ranger. We could wreck with the best of them.»_

Knock Out snorted. That seemed a bit hard to believe.

Another set of rocks clattered against his undercarriage. Wheels tore on the igneous ground. Lagging behind, Bulkhead's altmode strained up the same hill.

Normally the SUV would have an advantage over a sports car on this type of terrain. But Bulkhead was the one carrying the Tox-En.

...What? Knock Out wasn't about to hold that stuff!

Besides, he was a smaller frame. The poison would affect him faster if he was holding it.

The wrecker stopped. Engine sputtered and stalled.

_"I-...I just...need to rest for a minute,"_ he mumbled.

The medic transformed. He was standing above the hillside.

"Not a good idea," Knock Out replied.

No response.

_«I know it's tough, but I need you to stay the course»_ Fowler said.

Still no reply.

_«Bulkhead. Bulkhead!»_

For some reason, Knock Out felt a sudden spike of panic. He slid down the hill to inspect the wrecker.

"...uh..Uh-I'm here ranger..." Bulkhead said and the panic alleviated. If the wrecker were to die while alone with the autobot hopeful on probation...

A sigh filtered over the comm line. «You had me worried, two ton.»

The wrecker groaned.

"I...I can't-"

Now there was evident panic in the human's voice.

_«I don't want to hear that kind of talk, especially from the likes of you. We know you've gone through worse.»_

This felt like a momentous occasion of a sorts-

The fall of a titan in a human's eyes.

They weren't invincible after all.

Knock Out thought of Breakdown's corpse, paraded around by a human. He thought of the mounds of dead on Velicitron.

No, they certainly weren't.

"Not...not worse...than-"

Alright, that was enough. The medic leaned over the SUV and tore the Tox-En from the cables it was strapped to.

"My turn!" he smiled down at the wrecker with false enthusiasm. The worry over how dangerous the toxic material would be if so close to him felt too high; panic would arrive if he didn't treat this as if he was amused.

With the same cocky confidence, Knock Out spun around and started his treck on pede up the hillside.

His 'rescue' of the wrecker didn't last long. The speedster was only two thirds further from where he had picked the Tox-En up before he fell.

Ohh. This stuff was potent.

Optic vision was down 30%. The ground was fuzzy and blurry; it reminded Knock Out of the human pepper spray incident.

Inside, his tanks roiled.

A loud voice came somewhere behind him. The medic felt sure he recognized it. And then a large servo dropped on his shoulder and another came down in front of him palm up.

Breakdown!

_No, wait-_

They were the wrong color and build.

Oh _right_\- Bulkhead! Were they on Cybertron again? Did their excursion to the sea of rust expose them to some sort of toxin?...

"-t up. Can you get up?"

He grunted and tried. Below his chassis, the Tox-En lay on the rock where he had dropped it; an action necessary when he needed both servos free to catch his fall on the ground.

The sight of the green stuff reminded him where he was.

"Y-e-ah-" he stuttered out and tried to grab Bulkhead's offered servo. It engulfed his own, just like any bot Breakdown's size would.

_«Do you two need help?»_ Fowler asked with concern. Knock Out heard the wrecker laugh above him.

"Not...not much you can do..." the green mech replied. "'cept moral support..."

Speaking of support- Knock Out found himself pulled up off the ground and crashed into Bulkhead. The wrecker's voice was soft with worry: "Do you...need...Can I..."

Thinking he knew what the wrecker meant, the medic nodded.

"Knock y-yourself o-ut," he replied with irritating weakness.

Nausea swirling in both of them and systems continuing to crawl down, the two of them pulled each other up the remaining distance of the shield volcano. Sometimes Knock Out was the one tugging them along while the wrecker held the stuff. Sometimes Bulkhead was practically carrying the medic while the red mech cradled the toxic energon.

In this manner, they finally reached the mouth of the volcano. Vents heaving, Bulkhead looked over into the molten rocks.

"You...you wanna...do the honors?"

In answer, Knock Out flung the stupid stuff away from his scratched chassis and watched it drop down. The Tox-En clattered on rock below and slowly began to melt in the heat. Both cybertronians turned away from the sight.

"Fowler..." Bulkhead said slowly. "Mission accomplished. But...you may...have...to-"

The big guy dropped to his knees and Knock Out fell with him.

"...tuck...us..."

Ahead of them, the green brightness of a groundbridge flared into being.

"...in."

Maybe if he was a different bot, one whose head focused more on the happenings of the world rather than just those happening around him, and maybe if he hadn't been dizzy from the Tox-En exposure-

perhaps then Knock Out would have wondered why the vehicon had never returned with friends.

* * *

The helicopters moved as soon as the green glow faded away. Even higher above the vehicles, an insecticon hovered.

A good distance away, a femme lounged on a rock throne and watched through the insecticon's optics.

Around her, other servants of the hive waited for any commands their queen would issue. At the moment, she wasn't interested in issuing commands. Her attention had been caught by the sight this scout was observing.

"Hmm," she drew one claw over her lip as she watched. It traced back and drew across again, always too feathery to cut through the soft metal. "You were right to bring my attention here."

Cables dropped from the hovering helicopters and lowered down into the volcano mouth. The clamps attached were crushing something sickly green when the cables began to rise up again. Airachnid leaned forward in interest.

"Track those humans," she ordered. Her insecticon followed the human vehicles when they began to move away.

So many of them too. In their cars and helicopters, carrying their toxic prize and purple prisoners.

What fun this looked like.

What fun indeed.


	18. A Couple of Epiphanies

Optimus considers his recent willingness to treat his enemies more ruthlessly. Breakdown makes a few realizations of his own.

_AN- The end of the relic hunt, finally. It's a bit more fun to write chapters that aren't following canon._

* * *

The construction site had found something _very_ interesting.

It now sat on the back of a trailer, its containment box cabled down to the truck bed.

O'Connor was looking at it pretty intently. A table away, Rojas fiddled with his computers to make sure he was recording every bit of this.

The first agent was taking readings of the thing outside. Slowly, they registered and crawled onto his screen.

"Huh." O'Connor looked at the readings blankly. Rojas glanced over his shoulder to see what the big deal was.

He recognized the readings. They weren't identical, but they were close. Some sort of derivative then? That would explain the coloration.

"That alien or something?" Rojas asked the other soldier. The first man gave a slow nod.

"I think. I mean, it's gotta be."

It was.

"Isn't there someone we gotta contact if we dig up something extraterrestrial?"

"Oh," O'Connor snapped out of his awed reverie. "Yeah, 'think there is."

Rojas gave him a slap on the back. "Howsabout you go do that then?" he 'offered' pointedly. The other soldier nodded at him.

"Yeah. I'm on it." He cast one last glance down at the alien readings and then walked from the room.

Good.

Rojas pulled his own comm unit free. It sat underneath folds of clothing, hiding away from anyone with prying eyes.

"Vitrolof. Sir."

He looked at the screen and then out the window at the red crystals.

"I've got something for you."

* * *

The seeker buried under the armor cackled.

"Not so big and strong now, are you?" The voice distorted in its helmet, but it was still very clearly Starscream's.

Dreadwing's foolhardy rush at the seeker saw him running into a bulky arm; a moment later and he'd been flung over the ice.

Unsurprisingly, Breakdown charged despite seeing the other's failure.

His charge ended much the same. Starscream laughed even louder.

It sounded even more unhinged than usual.

"I haven't had_ this much fun_ since I punched that hole-"

Red plating. Gray faceplates. Always a smile to spare.

"- in Cliffjumper!"

Arcee's grief at his loss. Bumblebee's subdued approach to doing Cliffjumper's old jobs. Another name Ratchet remembered as someone he had failed, despite being unable to have changed a thing about the circumstance.

Optimus wished he could let himself feel their losses. Losing a member of what his unit considered to meet the human concept of 'family' created a dull ache; the emotional equivalent of phantom pain, a logical reaction to losing someone valued, but never the full sensation.

Primes did not allow themselves to grieve any more than that.

And he had grown used to it. It took orns, vorns, but he had. He could face off Megatron without falling into any despair over fighting his old friend. He could watch thousands of his fellow cybertronians perish.

The Matrix within him dulled the catastrophe so that he could continue to lead survivors.

When Starscream had murdered Cliffjumper, Optimus had felt that numbed ache.

He had lost another good soldier. Another good companion. But the death had not given him the pain that fed revenge.

So when Starscream had expressed his desire to defect, Optimus had been ready to accept. It would have been a slow process of distrust and probationary restrictions, but the advantages were important to the autobot cause and for the seeker himself. As unlikely as it was that Starscream's motives were anything but selfish, every being was unique. Every being came to crossroads in their lives. Everyone made decisions and later moved in different directions. It did not matter if they were autobot or decepticon or neutral or human-

A Prime was made to see the world from behind a screen. They were meant to make dispassionate decisions; only one with strong morals but the ability to dissociate from every hardship and trauma could effectively lead.

They would not be motivated towards revenge. They would not feel lingering bitterness.

And then Optimus had let the Matrix pour into Unicron's spark and lost it all.

When Jack returned his access to Vector Sigma, Orion had returned to Optimus.

But not to the one his unit here knew (with the exception of Ratchet).

Orion Pax had transformed into Optimus Prime when he had found the Matrix of Leadership; but it had taken time for the new Prime to adjust and find the ability to step away from the passionate and step behind that screen.

Then vorns had passed and Optimus had nearly forgotten what it was like to be Orion.

The recent adjustments brought it back.

And now-

Now those emotions so easily felt by Orion Pax were almost dissociative to experience. They felt alien; they felt as though they did not belong to him and yet experienced them regardless.

They made his processor struggle to reconcile to a solid identity. His spark, with the Matrix, knew he was Optimus; he was a Prime.

But his memories...

Once, Ratchet had told him about a rare medical occurrence. Sometimes, when a mech lost a limb, he did not accept the replacement. Sometimes, a psychological effect interrupted the transition and body's acceptance of what, by all logic, should have integrated seamlessly. The mind refused to believe this new limb was the same as the old, _because it wasn't_. But a mind _had_ to accept that illusion. It had to. Because if it didn't, the body rejected the replacement. It rejected _all_ replacements. And that mech could never again have a limb safely.

His spark knew he was behind that screen of leadership again. But his reawakened Orion memories rejected the screen.

And suddenly, being bitter, angry, vengeful, over the loss of a friend became a possibility.

Ratchet had called him soft while he had been dosed on synthetic energon

The medic, his old friend, believed he would not terminate Megatron because of lingering affection and hope for the past gladiator to replace the madman the warlord was now.

But the problem seemed rather to lay in his detachment.

He thought of red plating. He thought of jokes he never laughed at. He thought of a loyal, energetic, and caring bot.

And he felt that phantom energy from his life without the Matrix:

He thought of justice tainted with revenge.

He thought of impossible change from a mech who had given him false hope for a redemption many times in the past. He thought of the price mech's like Cliffjumper paid for Optimus's softness, pragmatism, and yes- hope.

"And you!" Starscream yelled at him. "I will beat the living spark out of you just so I never again have to endure your pontificating!"

The seeker grinned beneath his indestructible armor.

Optimus felt the weight of mistakes recently made fall down on him. He would take full responsibility for this disaster.

Even that which belonged to Dreadwing and Megatron and anyone else.

The Prime couldn't make them take responsibility; so he would take it all himself.

The war weighed him down and Optimus had not yet found a way to lift it.

"Breakdown-" he stopped the mech where he had been making to charge from again. Before the other asked a question, Optimus had turned to Dreadwing as well.

He knew why he veered for the one seeker over the other. He knew why he had lain his cards down as he had.

Dreadwing was a predictable mech. He was capable of empathy and honor. His downfall lay in his blindness to the decepticon cause; his inability to see that it was a faction undeserving of his loyalty.

But Starscream was chaotic. He evoked pity and spat on it. He had so very much potential and it caused so much more disapointment to watch him fall back on murder and mockery.

How often did Megatron string hope along for redemption and murder it?

With a pang of acceptance, Optimus knew why he would always chose the seeker who would not play with false hope over the one who acted, likely without realizing, as his master.

"Our battle remains unfinished," he went on, "but if we do not unite against our common foe, Starscream will destroy us both."

And that was where he became more dangerous than Megatron himself.

Throughout the vorns, Optimus had failed to kill the warlord and Megatron had failed to kill the Prime.

But Starscream would not have their rehearsed hesitation in either circumstance. With the Apex armor, he would tear each of them apart.

Such power made him blind.

It gave them the abilities to win; and so they did.

As the armor clad seeker sank down into the broken ice, Optimus sighed again.

It did not feel like a win.

Dreadwing looked at the two of them with clear hostility.

"Now that our alliance has served its purpose-"

But of course. Still, he would attempt the offer no matter how futile.

"Starscream is gone and the Apex armor with him," Optimus interrupted, "Is there really a need to renew battle when the goal has been lost?"

The blue seeker frowned.

"We have other unfinished business," he growled, casting a glance between the two of them. Optimus took a slight step in front of Breakdown.

"I bore Skyquake no malice, and I regret the role I played in his demise, so I will appeal to you as I once did your twin: turn your back on the decepticon cause and help me end this war."

He cast a glance at the shattered ice where Starscream had sunk beneath the sea. A mech irrevocably damaged by war and unable to tear away from murderous desire.

"For his sake; and for all who have fallen."

The defection of the _Nemesis_'s medics had already provided the autobots an advantage. They were able to hit more mines with the extra numbers, which offset the strain on their fuel resources having two extra tanks to feed created.

Having one more, a strong flyer like Dreadwing, could help push this war over the peak. It would leave Megatron with only Soundwave as an officer; and as dangerous a duo as those two were, Optimus believed they could be defeated.

Perhaps with the war over- he could step back from the screen and invest himself among those he cared the most for.

"You saved my life today." Dreadwing's frown darkened. He looked behind Optimus to the other grounder. "But I must terminate or capture any and all traitors I run across. And I will never forget what role you did play in my brother's demise."

His clawed servos spasmed and he spat: "Others may betray my master, but I will never turn on him."

The obvious barb made Breakdown growl. Optimus knew that the grounder was easy to rile with insults. There was a good chance Dreadwing knew as well.

Contrary to his words, the mech took a step back.

"I will terminate you- both of you-"

Optimus wondered if Dreadwing had heard himself falter there. It seemed the flyer, despite what he said, did not have the passionate drive to kill his former subordinate.

"-the next time we meet."

And then he tore from the ground.

So be it, Dreadwing.

"Breakdown." He turned away from the departing jet and looked at the frowning mech. "You did well today."

The blue mech shifted uncomfortably.

"What? We failed."

"But you still performed admirably," the Prime reassured.

There was a silence.

"I do not believe you desire to be an autobot at this juncture," he began again. "Your original decision to go neutral seems to be more honest. That said, this does not mean you cannot have a place among us. I just do not desire for you to pressure yourself into identifying with a faction you do not yet believe in."

The smaller mech looked away in discomfort.

"But...you'll still let me stay with Knock Out?"

"We will." Optimus nodded. "As I said, this was an evaluation of sorts. I want you to tell me how you envision your future among us. I want you to tell me what role you would like to play. What jobs you want to take on."

There was another pause while Breadown digested that.

"Wait-" he looked up at the Prime. "You're saying I get to...what, choose? What if my choice is to not help you at all?"

"Then we will respect that," the other stated gravely.

That also seemed to take a moment to understand.

"If I may make a suggestion," Optimus spoke up again when he felt that the silence had been long enough for Breakdown to mull on the news "-You seem to work well with subordinates. I have never seen a vehicon hesitate to shoot after requesting them to stand down. You obviously hold respect and admiration among your former troops."

Breakdown looked away quickly. The mech stared into the empty human facility with a thoughtful scowl.

"I dunno about that..."

Although it may have been too much too soon, Optimus gave the reassurance he wanted to give to the mech so obviously unused to compliments. "I believe your former leader underestimated you. He utilized you only for brute force. But today I saw a mech who understands the value of teamwork and subordinates."

The expressions on Breakdown's face morphed and for a moment Optimus saw what seemed to be horrified grief of a sort. But that was not unexpected; many former decepticons struggled to accept that their master had never seen them for what they could truly do. Such epiphanies were never painless.

While the mech mulled on this, he knelt down and carefully pinched a lump of snow from the ground.

"What-what are you doing?" Breakdown asked in confusion. Optimus straightened up, the tiny icy clump resting gently on the palm of his servo.

"I am bringing back a snowball for Rafael."

After all, he had failed to uphold that promise on the last two artic trips he had taken.

* * *

"Guess I'll be headin' back to base with you now."

Well, he didn't have to sound so glum about it. Ratchet shook his head.

"You require a thorough examination," he said and Wheeljack barked out a laugh.

"Only thing I require right now is some hole sealant," the wrecker denied and patted the side of his fallen ship. "Believe me, the _Jackhammer_ here is more needing of repair than me."

Typical wrecker bravado. Ratchet was a medic; who did Wheeljack think he was fooling? The small mech was covered in blunt force dents and lacerations; his audials would need an examination and likely recalibration (if not repairs and replacements) after being hit with the resonance blaster.

It was an attitude Ratchet had to deal with whenever Bulkhead was injured and honestly? he was old. He didn't have the patience for that type of attitude anymore.

But he'd leave him be if Wheeljack insisted. No need to force care on someone who didn't want it.

Another thing he'd picked up in the vorns of field medicine.

"But I figured I gotta head back anyway," the wrecker added with a shrug. "Boss wanted me around to keep an optic on our newest recruits, 'member?"

"W-e-ll, don't sugar coat it on _my_ behalf," Ratchet blustered with a huff. It made the wrecker grin; a brief motion though. The mech was injured and exhausted and smiling took energy.

The groundbridge vortex tore open nearby. Wheeljack took a limping step away from his ship.

The _Jackhammer_ would have to stay here until he got the clearance to leave base and repair it.

Ratchet doubted the wrecker was happy about that.

"Listen. Wheeljack."

The other mech made no motion to hint he was, but the medic continued regardless of that offense.

"I want to thank you for your... _backup_."

He thought using the word he'd insisted so hard earlier was false would get something from the wrecker.

But all Wheeljack said was "Yup."

They took a few more steps towards the bridge before the wrecker turned his head ever so slightly towards Ratchet. There was another exhausted grin there.

"Anytime...Ratchet."

His name sounded so much better than any of the teasing nicknames Wheeljack could come up with. Ratchet couldn't help but smile back.

Even though he knew all of this teasing and respectful affability was temporary. Wheeljack would leave; as soon as Optimus no longer thought they needed the extra autobot veteran to bot-sit their two defectors, the wrecker would return to his independent travelling.

Still. Maybe whenever he dropped by for a visit, he'd remember to call Ratchet by his name. Time would tell, he supposed.

They stepped through the groundbridge and Ratchet pointed at his medbay.

"Get in there-" he demanded and Wheeljack trudged over to it grumbling.

Then his immediate attention was on Raf.

"Ratchet!" the boy said happily. He was on the catwalk and pointing at the main screens. Also on the catwalk was Fowler, talking into a comm line. While Ratchet didn't see Optimus nearby, Breakdown was already back and lounging against one of the walls of the main room.

What was far more important than him or the absent Optimus or mumbling Wheeljack was the cybertronian script on the screen.

The Iacon Database.

Their little trick with the virus in Laserbeak had worked! The success offsetted the ethical complication of their earlier actions.

"Rafael, you are a genius!" Ratchet exclaimed and the young boy beamed bashfully. Nearby, Fowler turned around and snapped at them both. "Will you keep it down?"

That drew the before silent Breakdown's attention.

"Hey-" he stepped from the wall and looked closely at the human agent. "You're the communication hub for Knock Out, right? Where is he? What's wrong?"

Fowler frowned at the inflow of questions.

"He's not in combat, if that's what you're panicking about, but they're both in danger. The relic was some stuff called Tox-En."

Ratchet felt his spark sink.

Poison. Incredibly dangerous poison. If Bulkhead and Knock Out were exposed to it, then he would need to detox them both and the medbay was cramped enough with Wheeljack currently in it.

Muffled words came from Fowler's comm and he turned back to it to listen. Then the agent was spinning around again.

"Raf, open the bridge! Now!" he yelled and the boy moved to do so immediately.

When the vortex opened, Breakdown broke off of the rest and ran through.

Only a few short clicks later and he was returning, helping a wavering Bulkhead, who, in turn, was just about carrying a blurry-opticed Knock Out.

It occured to Ratchet later that this moment had been the first time he had personally seen Breakdown help Bulkhead out.

But in the moment itself, he was a bit preoccupied with rushing the group to the detox chambers to notice.

The medbay may have been cramped, but at least Breakdown proved to be a surprisingly competent assistant in the necessary medical procedures.

* * *

Getting away from Prime had been Breakdown's first action upon returning.

That left him to sit with only the company of the tiny human youngling and the alien with a voice he swore he recognized.

Luckily, neither talked to him. Which was lucky because Breakdown had no idea what to say to either. He wasn't exactly a big fan of humans.

Or hadn't been since the M.E.C.H. abduction.

The next team to return was the old medic's. And as he and the child celebrated, the familiar sounding human spun around to snap at them.

The tension in his voice made Breakdown worried.

It made him worried for Knock Out's safety.

Not for the first time that cycle, the blue mech stressed over the fact that his partner was alone with his rival. What if Bulkhad had hurt Knock Out to enact revenge on Breakdown himself?

The worry, as unlikely as it seemed as of late, was a reoccuring one.

So when he ran through the bridge and saw the green mech hunched over his partner, Breakdown panicked.

It took a moment to realize what he was seeing.

Bulk wasn't attacking Knock Out. He was _helping_ him.

He thought of a tunnel in a mountain. Of a one-liner that seemed to hint at his own helpless death coming before those black servos tore his restraints off the train track.

Neither incident had been believable. But it didn't make them any less real.

_"I don't believe it either",_ Bulk had said.

As he had done then (at least before Starscream had ordered him to attack his unlikely savior), Breakdown felt the need to repay the favor. He moved forward over the volcanic ground and wordlessly tried to help them both forward towards the groundbridge.

It wasn't easy. Together, the wrecker and the doctor were painfully heavy. The Tox-En made them too weak to really support their own weight.

The slag. Breakdown had always detested the toxic weapon. There was nothing fun about fighting from a distance and letting poison do your dirty work.

And the clean up was a pain.

But after a while, Ratchet had distractedly dismissed him from helping and Breakdown had wandered away from the detox containers.

The last team, the mute scout and two-wheeler, had returned by now. An unfamiliar red car was also parked on the driveway that led to the outside.

It seemed to belong to that human nurse.

Breakdown watched her lecturing Fowler with amusement. The scene was entertaining enough for him to step near and listen.

"-got to go to Washington!"

"Not on my watch-" June jabbed a finger at the larger human. "First, you need a check up. That little fall you had could have given you a concussion!"

Oh, right. The fall that had made the human be trapped on a tiny berth spouting delirious nonsense.

"I'm fine," Fowler protested.

The protest cut off with a yelp when a large finger nudged the catwalk they both stood on. Breakdown chuckled, both at how shocked they both looked from his interruption and at the scenario in general.

"Listen to your nurse, little man," he grinned. "You gotta follow the professional's orders."

Fowler recovered slowly from the surprise and then finally followed June's pointed finger to the tiny berth once more, grumbling all the way about how he was needed in 'Washington'.

Before she followed, June looked up and winked at him. He couldn't return the gesture with one optic, but she didn't seem to notice.

Huh.

Guess being stuck with fleshies was bearable. They weren't less intelligent or sentient than his own species; in fact, they were shockingly cybertronian in many ways.

Even the ones who had cut him up unremorsefully seemed right at home among the doctors of the decepticons.

* * *

_AN- Vitrolof was one of the 'stage-names' of a M.E.C.H. officer mentioned at the end of chapter 11._


	19. To Wear Your Loyalty

Knock Out undergoes the Rite of the Autobrand...twice. Optimus mulls on the last branding ceremony he was a part of.

_AN- I edit out small grammar/spelling mistakes the day(s) after I post each chapter, but do try to catch any large ones before any readers have to see them. As always, this fic is operating without a beta, so these mistakes are sadly inevitable._

_My knowledge of the Act of Affiliation and Rite of the Autobrand come from the IDW continuity, so we're operating mostly from that._  
_And Ultra Magnus being an insufferable lecturer pre-rite also takes inspiration from there _

* * *

First had been the Act of Affiliation.

If they'd still been in a war, maybe Knock Out could've skipped that. But Ultra Magnus gave no grounds on the matter.

He'd been forced to listen to lectures from the big mech, take tests, and finally undergo the act.

It was a good stellar cycle later before he had, with the help of Arcee, Bumblebee, and Smokescreen, pressured Magnus into giving him the Rite of the Autobrand.

The symbol was small enough, but it still interrupted what had formerly been a smooth, perfect chassis.

Knock Out brushed his fingers over it and looked in one of the (many) mirrors he had in his apartment. Without anyone else in here to see, the medic had gone thoughtfully quiet.

He had never taken on the decepticon symbol. He had never been all that loyal to it; the perks were getting to do whatever he wanted and also have the security that the faction would likely win. That was it.

_In my view, you have each acted as a Prime_

Loyalty, pah. What was such an abstract concept anyways?

It was carving this ugly thing into his perfect chest and feeling proud of it. It was suffering through each of Magnus's horrid lectures just so he could get to this point- just so he could feel as if he was one of them.

They'd all given him compliments afterwards. _Lookin' good. Proud of you. Welcome to the team._

Knock Out brushed over the brand again absently.

He wondered what Breakdown would have said about it.

And he hated, absolutely detested, the fact that he could not say, with any confidence, that he knew what his old assistant would have thought.

* * *

She rapped on the wall outside and interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey." Arcee smirked at him. The medic tossed the datapad he'd been looking over onto the one berth. The two-wheeler followed the motion with her optics. "What were you doing? Having second thoughts?"

A quick thought of stone faced Magnus and his long winded lectures answered that implied question easily.

"Oh no. Believe me," Knock Out laughed, "I know this code thing in and out."

From her look, she didn't believe him. Likely because it would be hard for any mech to read up on every code and law in the few weeks he had been here.

They were skipping the Affiliation step. As he had once suspected, such processes got rushed in wartime.

The speed made him feel vindicated. He couldn't help but assume he was the fastest autobot to have ever been accepted.

And he didn't exactly care for disappointment enough to ever look into whether that assumption was right or not.

"What's it _like_?" he asked despite knowing what it had been like when he'd done it.

Just because he remembered his experience...

Well. It certainly couldn't hurt to try to hear what it was like for others. Whether or not he could understand it-

"It's not gonna hurt, you wimp," she mocked with a laugh of her own. They held optic contact while they shared mutual amusement.

Knock Out almost let it stop there. Then he mentally slapped himself.

"Yes, but what was it like?" he repeated. "What was that cycle like for you?"

"Ah." Arcee folded her arms and moved to lean against the hallway wall. She smiled nostalgically.

"It was vorns ago now. I was with Tailgate, at the time. We went through the Rite together. Then we got to use the ceremony as an excuse to party with the rest. Let me tell you, Jazz's parties are not to be snuffed at."

Having never met the mech, Knock Out couldn't exactly contest that.

But all of this did sound like a nice idea. He wished Wheeljack hadn't already used up the last of his high grade stores. They could've all drank tonight, after (or before, he didn't really care) leaving the base to drive around. After all, they could do that now. They technically could have for a day or two, but Knock Out had wanted to save that surprise until after he was officially affiliated among the bots of this universe; so neither he nor Breakdown had left yet. Tonight? He absolutely would.

Arcee seemed to notice that he wasn't thinking about her story anymore.

"Anyway, I thought I'd drop by to tell you we're all ready. Are you?"

More than ready. He was impatient.

Knock Out offered a smarmy smile.

"Of course I am," he purred confidently. It just made her raise an optic ridge.

Before answering, Arcee looked him over (which Knock Out couldn't exactly berate her for).

"Sure you want to do this?" she asked dryly. "It's going to mar your look."

The medic considered how his reflection in his own time had looked. How it had looked after that first little ceremony. How it looked after he had fled cybertron.

All things considered? He had liked that aesthetic. He'd liked the shout of loyalty it proclaimed to the world of ungrateful little brats on cybertron.

"Meh. It'll interrupt my symmetry, but I think it'll make me look better than ever."

She shook her head with that little grin of hers.

"Well, you'll carry it with a certain flair," the two-wheeler said.

A moment later and she added: "But you'll carry it. That's already more than you did with the con symbol."

It seemed the others had noticed as well then.

She waved him forward. "Come on, then. When you're prepared, Mr. 'of course I'm ready'."

He rolled his optics at her. The little red circles had remained red against black, even after he had taken on the autobrand in the other world. They would never become blue unless his paint job did.

There was a line he wouldn't cross after all.

"Hey-" Arcee patted his arm briefly, like one would pat someone else's pet. The analogy left Knock Out less than pleased. "As rushed as all this is, which means as suspicious as I am, I'm...I'm real happy you're doing this. I'll be cheering you on."

Well, that brought all the happy satisfaction back again.

* * *

The servo drifted onto his shoulder to confidently grip it. Orion wished he could share that confidence.

"But...I have not..."

Something felt so wrong about this. The glaring purple icon on Megatron's chest seared into his mind. It would be his in a moment.

Why purple? Why the color of the destroyer?

It was not the first risky decision Megatron had made- after all, he had taken on the name of one of the Thirteen. Of the Fallen.

So far as Orion could tell, Megatron liked to push at the barriers of acceptance. Shock value and thought provoking imagery- he wanted to create both.

"You have earned these stripes," the gladiator flashed a smile of sharp dentae.

How?

"You earned them long ago. And I fully believe you will do more for our righteous cause."

The brand stared at him.

Why was it purple? Why were they called decepticons?

"For you," he corrected. "I...I hope I will not let you down," Orion mumbled.

Why did this feel like betrayal?

Surely, he was in need of far more mental recovery than either of them had first thought. It seemed his time in stasis had taken a heavier toll on him than mere lack of memory; adjusting to being on a warship hovering over a planet far from their home, with only Soundwave as a recognized figure other than Megatronus, and with the gray mech seeming...

Orion did not want to think that thought. It disgusted and terrified him.

But it was impossible to not feel how off Megatron was.

"Oh, Orion-" the silver mech's grin grew until it pulled painfully at his scarred face. "You never let me down."

_Deception. Deception._

But why?

When- and how- had he failed Megatron? Why could he not remember such a failure but feel it in their fields, in the very air between them?

The purple brand remained on the otherwise gray mech. It would be on him next. It would go on now, while Megatron returned to the bridge to speak to his army.

When had he gotten an army?

It felt so rushed. He had hardly regained awareness, felt thrust into a confusing, alien world, and already Megatron was shoving him into the medical bay to receive his brand.

He would not even stay to watch Orion receive the symbol; the brand he himself had apparently created for the army he had brought into being.

Why would Megatron not stay?

This entire time, the silver mech was brief with him. He had rushed the archivist to say he would join this cause of his and then withdrawn as if that had been all he had wanted.

Or perhaps he was too scared to spend excess time with him; as if that would reveal what the vorns had changed and erase this illusion of time travel.

But if that was so, then it was futile; the illusion was cracked to begin with. Orion could not escape how wrong everything about the word he had returned to felt. And primarily among that was the being in the body of Megatronus. No matter how wide he made his smile or how much comforting praise he spewed, Orion did not see his old comrade within him. Only a caricature, marred by a war that he himself had been in stasis for.

This new Megatron would want Orion to follow the lead of his other followers; the archivist would address him as 'lord' and show only the utmost respect.

How distanced it seemed.

The gladiator left while he stood outside the medbay. He would not stay for the branding. There would be no pomp or circumstance; there would be no pride and affection.

Orion entered alone. He did not give any words on the cause. He had no ruler present to ceremonially pledge loyalty to.

There was only the burning pain of the brand and the cold distance left behind.

_"Welcome back to the winning team,"_ the doctor had said.

Winning team? Why had Cybertron devolved into teams?

But far more concerning:

Welcome _back_?  
Why did that imply he had ever strayed from Megatron's cause?

Knock Out, busy cleaning the brand of any mistakes, did not seem to notice the misery of Orion Pax as the archivist mulled over the confusing choice of words.

And now here they were.

Knock Out's face was clenched in its smile. But the autobrand was far from as painful to administer as the decepticon counterpart. A large part of the ceremony among those ranks was built in pain. The autobots did not have such a foundation.

The inhabitants of the outpost circled around the crouching mech. It was customary to be on a knee for this ritual. It was customary to respect the loyalty this brand signified.

Not loyalty to a leader, but to the cause itself.

The creeds, the laws, the beliefs; the long and short of which had already been read by Knock Out during his free time- and, before that, during the time when Cybertron was rebuilding.

Nearby, Breakdown watched as the perfect smooth chest of his partner was brazed into the square shape of the autobrand.

It wasn't _right_. It wasn't.

But there was nothing he could do about it. There never had been any chance of reaching Knock Out, after all- with the medic, it was always him that reached to you. The other simply never noticed otherwise.

Maybe...

He looked away from the porcelain faceplates to stare at the others. Ratchet was deep in concentration as he welded the brand on. Arcee had her arms crossed and looked borderline proud. Bumblebee was watching with a youngling's excitement. Neither wrecker looked hostile, though Wheeljack didn't look like he was paying attention at all.

And the Prime himself had the tiniest of smiles on his face.

Maybe this wasn't so bad. Maybe this- this room of support- was what the both of them needed.

Maybe that's why Knock Out had brought them here to start with.

It was a comforting enough thought. So Breakdown watched the rest of the ceremony with that word in his mind.

_Maybe. Maybe._

Nearby, Optimus offered the final words of the Rite to a slowly standing Knock Out. The brand glowed hot to the touch on the mech's chassis.

He thought of the last branding ceremony he had been a part of, however unwillingly. He thought of how it had been a trick, a trap layed down by one pretending to be the Megatronus of old.

Though he had seen no evidence of it yet, a part of him still knew this could be a ploy for trust. Several decepticons had initiated similar ploys in the past, and Optimus had believed them out of hope.

_Deception._

He looked at the relieved expression of happiness on the latest recruit.

_Deception._

Optimus sorely hoped it was not.

And at the center of the ceremony, Knock Out accepted the final vial of energon. The last step of the ceremony.

The Rite would be over with this energon. His loyalty would be proclaimed in words and on his chest.

No matter how unnatural it would be, he would continue to try for that final bit of praise Optimus had offered- for the ability to say, despite the odds, despite his instinct, he had acted as a Prime would chose to.

So he rose, no longer an autobot in memory-

But one of this new world as well.

And he basked in the accomplishment.

* * *

_AN- If you enjoyed, please leave a comment! :_


	20. Club Meetings and Unwanted Remembrances

Knock Out and Breakdown enjoy their first days outside the enclosure of the base. A mech above on board the Nemesis is confronted by an element of injury he had hoped to avoid.

_AN- Remember to comment if you've come this far! __I've got 150 comments on this fic over on AO3, so don't be shy here :)_

* * *

They'd met because of injuries.

Because Motormaster had the habit of hurting his subordinates as much as the autobots did.

Why, out of all of them, the medic had seemed most interested in him was beyond Breakdown.

There wasn't exactly a whole lot he could offer. In fact, he really had nothing to offer at all; not when Knock Out was the one finding and outfitting him with mods, bringing him his energon, talking their nights under Cybertron's polluted sky away.

He remembered when that sky was clear. He wished he could've known Knock Out back then; before the war ravaged the ground and filled the starfield with perpetual smoke.

Even so, the medic was the best thing that ever happened in his life. If that required a war to happen, Breakdown still wanted it.

Because at this point...

He didn't know what life would be without the medic.

These days, he was far less paranoid about anything. The two of them lived easy going lives. Made no responsibilities and took no blame. Of the two, Knock Out was the more uptight and irritable.

But Breakdown still felt the occasional fear.

And his greatest one wasn't losing the war or getting killed or anything it should have been-

It was losing Knock Out to someone, or something, else.

Without the medic or Motormaster's orders or his old siblings telling him who he was, what would he have left?

What would he _be_?

* * *

With a now familiar _shnk_, the medbay doors slid open. XL-2M99 looked up from his desk, where he was currently trimming a strange Earth tree, to see a vehicon stagger in. The newcomer was a flightframe, built for battle. The alien tree, no matter how peacefully cathartic it was to play with, could wait.

The interim medic moved over to support the purple drone. He recognized the other vaguely: XL-3T09.

"What is it?" the former miner asked, helping support his new patient to a med berth. XL-3T09 actually chuckled, though it sounded pained.

"Not-no-nothing," his reply garbled, but the flyer pushed on, "Just me-messed around wi-th a t-o-oy, th-at's all."

He turned his head as he said this and XL-2M99 caught sight of the brazed metal on the vehicon's silver neck.

"An explosive toy?" he said in an attempt to keep things light. The injury looked far from casual.

"M-may-ybe-" XL-3T09 stuttered out his laugh. The medic pushed him back against the berth and kept one servo there when the flyer tried to rise again.

The neck was not the only area brazed. Down the shoulder, curling down a fraction of the chest, tearing into that arm-

Burns.

The metal rose and twisted in its natural reaction to curl from extreme heat. The purple paint had seared away and left behind a rusty, heated gold.

"Alright. Stay still," XL-2M99 stepped away from the patient, hoping that he'd listen and keep still instead of continuing his efforts to rise.

He gathered up his tools for burn treatments and returned to XL-3T09's side. He did his job quietly and efficiently.

If he happened to rush through the job, the flyer didn't mention it.

"There." XL-2M99 curled his servos into fists when he no longer had to hold a tool. They clenched together tightly but XL-3T09 didn't notice anything odd about that. The flyer sat up from the berth slowly.

"Take the rest of the cycle off," the medic ordered, "Possibly up to the next three cycles off in fact. Give your plating time to accept the welds. If you experience any pain, come back. I'll turn off your pain receptors if you'd like."

XL-3T09 looked at him. Others may find the stare unreadable; but vehicons knew how to see the miniscule expressions on their mostly blank faces. At the moment, the flyer was a bit confused.

"Alright," he replied slowly, "But I think I'll be fine. You know..."

He cocked his head to the side and spoke with amusement. "The last doc in here didn't give a scrap."

That wasn't hard to believe. But the last medic had had a nurse; and Breakdown had been very nice during XL-2M99's stay in the medbay.

"Anyway," XL-3T09 drawled and stretched overhead. It must have hurt. The plating was still raw from the burns and welding; he shouldn't have forced his arms up. He was showing off. "I'll get out of your way then."

One side of the visor dimmed in a 'wink'. It was an expression XL-2M99 could not make anymore; not with one half of his visor roughly welded and almost nonfunctional.

Unimpressed, the medic motioned for the door. The flyer stepped off the berth, winced slightly at the impact, and then made for the exit.

XL- 2M99 managed to wait until the door of the medbay had slid shut behind the patient. Then he leaned down against his table and let his restrained fists uncurl so that his shaking servos could tremble.

* * *

The big commercial door rolled upwards. First came the stream of light, searing in a short line where the door lifted from the road. Then came the air, warm desert wind lazily moving forward into the monitored chill of the base.

And finally the door lifted all the way away.

Outside was the wide blue expanse of earth sky. Puffy clouds crawled high above leisurely.

Oh yes. This was Jasper. The warm air, the bright light, the dusty plains and red plateaus.

The first time he had come here was for a street race. Really, the fact that the autobot Bumblebee had been competing in that race and that all of them had later arrived to tear his door off should have given Knock Out the heads up that Jasper was special.

Instead, it took the Damocles incident, with Soundwave pinpointing the location of Raf Esquivel's house, for the decepticons to know what Jasper meant.

Knock Out was pretty sure Soundwave didn't know the location in this timeline. And with Breakdown alive and Silas dead, C.Y.L.A.S. could never bring about the Damocles situation.

It would be nice if the spymaster never discovered this base. In the weeks he'd been here, the medic had grown pretty comfortable with this dumpheap. All things considered, it was still better than the Unit:E dump he'd visited at after the war.

At his side, Breakdown squinted.

"Wait. This is it? Really?"

Pushing past him, Bumblebee rolled both his optics. _"Come on. It's home!"_

"Yeah-" Knock Out teased, "Show some respect for this glorious wasteland."

He took a step out from under the ceiling of the old bunker and onto the dirt. The carbon based dust gritted up in his pedes; not the first time he'd felt it, not with all the missions they'd been on lately, but it still felt important.

Just like the other cons, he'd never been a big fan of Earth. Organic life was something he could do without and Megatron's original plan of cyberforming the planet wasn't all that unappealing.

But Earth had its perks. Sexy designs for automobiles, high quality rags and polishes, and entertainment quite unlike the dead industry of the dead Cybertron.

When Ratchet had been forcing him to visit Earth for lessons, Knock Out had been forced to adapt to the planet even more than he had when it had just been him and Breakdown travelling around.

And when the planet had become off limits for him-

He'd really grown to miss it. This desert was familiar. This 'wasteland' was a comforting masterpiece of zero civilization and 100% Earth.

Oh yeah- Knock Out shuffled one pede in the dirt and then spun to face Bumblebee.

"Hey, kid. Whatever happened to the 'sports car club'?"

It took the scout a moment to remember what he was talking about.

_"Ohh...yeah. That."_ The yellow mech rubbed behind his helm. _"I..."_

He'd already made up his mind that if Bumblebee forgot the offer once sober, he'd still make it happen. Or at least get something out of it.

"Come on," he waved impatiently. "What are you waiting for?"

Earth felt just as amazing to tear over as he remembered it would. Knock Out sped over the road laughing while Bumblebee tried to keep up.

Back at the plateau, Breakdown watched them go.

It was a little sad to see.

Felt like the end of an era.

And he didn't really remember what he'd done with himself before that era.

* * *

"So is this a picnic?" June asked the kids.

The trio looked amongst each other and then just shrugged.

"Meh," Miko glanced away first with crossed arms and a familiar pout. The other two just shook their heads at her, internally or outwardly. She'd been mad ever since Bulkhead had left on a scouting job earlier that day and she'd failed to sneak after him.

The two sports cars tore back towards the base plateau and then away again, leaving the humans to cough in the dust.

Rather inconsiderate of them.

Laughter and a long whirring buzz followed though and it made the dust bearable.

Wait.

"The big door is open now?" the woman asked. She hadn't heard about this development, but then again she wasn't too invested in this side of her life. She did have a job and social circle of her own.

"Yeah," Miko answered, "We're letting Doc. Knock visit the dog park. Under supervision."

Oh yes, because three human children were such adequate supervision in this scenario. June chuckled quietly and shook her head at the teen's bravado.

"W-we're completely safe out here, mom," Jack started to wave his hands in protest. The woman cut his concerns off.

"I'm not here to bring you back in," she promised.

The two cars sped nearby again. They waited until the noise was down before speaking again.

"If anything," June smiled, "I'd say this _should_ be a picnic. Who wants sandwiches?"

It was impossible not to hear Jack's groan. Raf, on the other hand, just offered a subdued smile of his own. "Um. I'll take one?"

This time it was Miko's turn to hmph. The teen glared out of the sides of her eyes while her head pointed away from them.

"If there's drinks and snacks involved, I guess I'm in."

Trying to offer her most 'fun but motherly' smile, June said: "You hardly need more caffeine. I'll make some lemonades."

Twenty minutes later and they truly were having a picnic. The four humans sat on a tablecloth on the sand while Breakdown and Arcee sat behind the cloth. Both cybertronians were awkwardly quiet, but neither had wanted to interfere on the 'club meeting' that the two race car formats were having.

Despite the fact that they were all ridiculously tall aliens, June enjoyed the traditional feel of normalcy that having a day in the sun was. Picturesque. The family dream. A bonding moment between herself and her son. And his friends and some of hers as well. Arcee was practically a member of the family and Breakdown certainly had his moments.

It was a little lacking in people, what with Ratchet and Wheeljack indoors and Optimus on a scouting mission of his own.

But it was a sunny day and felt nostalgic in an odd sense; obviously there were no giant aliens in her past, but the ideal of a sunny camping trip- of sitting with family and friends, eating easy to make food and drinking powdered lemonade, all the while feeling the red and white checkered cotton underneath their jeans and the lumps of the earth beneath the cloth- it was the type of picture out of a child's book or a family-friendly 60's show that made anyone exposed to it as a child nostalgic for it as an adult.

Such thoughts made little sense and forced a bittersweet edge on the ideal-but-unreal-feeling moment. So June put them away and let herself be swept up in that dreamlike moment of friends and family and the great outdoors.

* * *

For some reason, Wheeljack was in his medical bay.

For some reason, Wheeljack was _tinkering_ in his medbay.

Ratchet bristled up. The reaction startled the wrecker from what he was doing and he pushed away from the terminal he had been messing with.

"E-e-xcuse me," the medic started up in offense.

Immediately, Wheeljack decided to laugh.

_Excuse_ me, _sir_.

Why did wreckers have to be such ruffians? Or perhaps that was just Wheeljack.

"Hey, relax." The other mech showed his hands in a 'calm down' motion. "I was just messin' around."

"P-That's what I saw!" Ratchet stammered, "Some nerve you have to come in here and-and-'mess around' with sensitive equipment!"

It was bad enough that the equipment was human based and severely limited-

"Just thought I'd give you a servo," Wheeljack narrowed his optics. "This junk is alien tech. 'thought I'd mess around, see if I could get it to work better for you. I've seen you lecturing it before when it ain't workin' right."

Oh. But, even if that were true, ...

"You're a swordsmech-" the medic gestured, "Not a- an _engineer_."

Wheeljack smirked.

"Haven' you seen me fixin' up the _Jackhammer_? I know my way around tech, alien or otherwise," he said and Ratchet found he believed him.

The smirk faded away. Wheeljack was looking out beyond the medbay. There was a quiet while Ratchet waited for him to speak again.

"Hey. I talked with the boss today, when he got back from his scouting trip," the wrecker started up.

There was only one subject the medic could imagine they would have talked about; at least, only one that Wheeljack would bother telling him about.

He hated that he felt disappointed about it.

"I can imagine his answer," Ratchet rolled his optics; they landed, not on the wrecker, but on the terminal nearby. "Those two are already outside, learning everything there is to know about the location of this base. Optimus apparently trusts them enough."

Wheeljack waited a moment before tagging his own words along the end of that: "Enough to say they don' need botsitters anymore."

Well?

Good riddance, he'd say. Wheeljack was an insubordinate thug; why would they need him around base?

No reason, none at all.

...Ratchet didn't buy it.

"This means you're leaving." It wasn't a question. But somehow, the medic felt it deserved an answer; even if the answer would just be a repetition of his own statement.

The wrecker waited another moment. Then, out of the corner of his vision, Ratchet saw his scarred lips quirk up in a smile.

"Figured I would. Been hopin' to for a good couple o' orns now. But wouldn't you know it..." Wheeljack's grin made it into his tone of voice "-I told the big guy no."

Ratchet turned away from where he'd pointedly been glaring at a terminal in mock indifference.

"Re-why?" he asked bluntly.

The wrecker shrugged.

"Eh. Just feel I got unfinished business round here. Thought I'd stick around, just for a bit."

Here he'd thought the apparent modifications Wheeljack had been caught doing on his medical equipment had been the wrecker's way of preparing to say goodbye.

"So...You're going to stay?" Ratchet asked as if to confirm.

"I think so," Wheeljack smiled lazily. "For a bit more, at least."

In that case...

"We-ell then, why don't you keep making yourself useful!" Ratchet laughed. It felt nice to laugh. Besides with Rafael, he didn't get the chance to do so very often.

The wrecker rolled his optics and muttered something about slave driving, but he trudged over to the human equipment he'd been tinkering with before.

Of course it was temporary. Wheeljack would leave sooner or later; it was in his spark to do so. But since he was here, might as well be useful.

That's what Ratchet told himself.

His smile remained even after the laughter had stopped. The old medic crouched to work with his own equipment- recalibrations were always useful with such faulty technology. If he hummed a little as he labored, Wheeljack didn't mention it. And if the wrecker occasionally started conversation, well, Ratchet couldn't say he was surprised; the small mech was chatty, when he wasn't guarded.

It all felt very nice.

But the comfort sped away when the screen began to ring with an alarm.

Ratchet stood up from under his desk to approach it with a professional's speed. His servos lay over the keys and controls while he read the new information.

"It's an SOS..." he mumbled. Wheeljack set his own tools aside to approach.

"Who from?" the wrecker frowned.

The expression only deepened when Ratchet did deliver the news.

"From Bulkhead."


	21. Bad Things Happen To Bots

XL-2M99 and Bulkhead both find themselves inspecting a decepticon mine with unnaturally skiddish vehicon inhabitants.

_AN- Chapter title is in reference to Miko's line "Bad things happen to bots when I leave their side"._

_She may not be all that wrong._

* * *

Two mechs were on the ground. One crumpled on the floor of an airborne warship, one crouched on the dirt of a rainforest.

Energon lay in little puddles by one. Thick, unhappy terror swarmed the other.

A groundbridge had already arrived for one and all help had been shoved aside from those in control of it.

A separate bridge was now arriving for the other and he was comforted to let the mechs who ran out of it support him through the vortex.

Within the autobot base, Wheeljack was storming away from a medical bay with enough anger to keep his worry at bay. Ratchet kept his patient on the berth while Bumblebee and Breakdown waited nearby. Arcee trailed after Knock Out, who had followed the white wrecker out of the base.

For the mech aboard the warship, no such comfort had arrived.

* * *

_Earlier_

* * *

It hadn't been the first time Bulkhead had scouted at this mine.

They had yet to make a strike on it; that was his decision. While Knock Out had helped them find this mine, Bulkhead wanted to watch it a little longer before attacking.

Something here really rubbed him the wrong way.

The mine was a pretty small operation. A lot of vehicons, but not all that much energon so far. It was placed inside a large set of winding tunnels and tall caverns. The nearest human city was twenty miles away. There didn't seem to be any human presence in his jungle.

But it seemed like something was here.

The vehicons were on edge. They moved around in teams. Miners stuck with fighting class. The talking done seemed to carry an edge of hidden panic; it was rushed and all too casual and seemed as though it was just a way to cover unease under the guise of normalcy.

* * *

"This does seem promising."

XL-2M99 set the datapad aside and thanked his visitor. "You said one of your friends went missing there?"

The flyer nodded. "Yeah," he replied, "XL-44L4."

The medic didn't recognize the name personally, but he nodded regardless.

"My friend XL-8K9C was last seen at that mine." The former miner clenched his fists beneath the desk. "While there have been disappearances at different mines, it seems SA:9 holds promise."

The visiting vehicon pointed behind himself.

"Do you want me to go grab a squad? Tear the place apart?"

XL-2M99 shook his head.

"No," he said, "Lord Megatron will not want to clear an entire squadron for a job he has not yet considered important."

"Well," XL-3T09 grinned with the way he moved his blank head and brightened his red strip of optic. "You want me to go tear the place apart?"

The medic couldn't really find it in himself to be surprised.

That said, he didn't want to put his newest companion in danger.

"I want to do it."

The 'grin' left XL-3T09's expression.

"You? You don't even have any weapons equipped."

"That may be so," XL-2M99 conceded, "But I have made up my mind. I was a miner for every stellar cycle the Nemesis has floated above this planet. I know how to inspect a mining operation for our missing comrades."

There was a moment before the flyer seemed to concede this.

"Fine. I don't even like being underground."

This time it was XL-2M99 who tried to convey a smile with a face that had no mouth.

* * *

Bulkhead didn't remember drones being so...

Well. This was the sort of fear and anxiety provoking camaraderie that normal mechs would show.

He wondered how it would effect his combat abilities if he started considering drones like normal mechs.

He wondered what had them all so scared.

So the last few Earth cycles he'd been sent on a job, he'd come here. Whatever was going on, he'd find out. And if nothing was, then the whole gang would come here to raid the joint.

Extra energon sure would be nice. Ever since Jackie had come to stick around and those other two had joined the base, it felt like he was always running on half a tank. Not that Bulkhead wanted his buddy to leave, far from it. It was nice to have Wheeljack around for so long; seemed like he normally would run by now.

Before they got that extra fuel though...

He scooted closer over the foliage and looked at the cave entrance. Two vehicons were standing there, talking closely to each other too quietly for him to overhear.

A green light erupted near the two of them and Bulkhead narrowed his optics at it. Was it time for shift change already?

Only two vehicons came out; a flyer with guns hot and another miner class with a red and white glyph painted on his shoulder. The newcomers shared a muted conversation with the guards and then the miner moved into the cave entrance while the other three remained outside.

Bulkhead crawled away from that entrance and slid deeper into the rainforest. He'd found a different entrance a few cycles before; while the cons had six entrances staked out, the wrecker had found at least two that weren't guarded.

He slipped inside the narrow tunnel as best he could when it was small and he was a bigger mech.

Somehow, even with his size and aptitude for being klutzy, he made it to one of the central caverns and watched it without notice.

If he'd already found paths they hadn't, Bulkhead had to wonder if any others had too. Perhaps there were more insecticons, hiding out among these subterranean jungle tunnels, preying on the energon dug up here. An even more superstitious part of him thought of Earth's various myths and monsters, buried under the jungle away from any humans. He shook the thoughts away. He'd been spending too much time watching movies with Miko.

Minutes ticked by. Though he often seemed impatient, Bulkhead was trained in tracking and that required a quiet touch; he knew how to hold still for hours.

It was around 1400 in this timezone before it happened.

First came a brush of wind. Bulkhead lost balance and righted himself.

Sure, faded yellow sunlight shone down the tunnel from the entrance, but such a direct blast of wind?

It felt less natural and more like someone had ran by.

No one was in sight.

Bulkhead frowned and returned to looking out into the cavern from his cover behind a large rock. One miner was heading near, seemingly inspecting the walls. That painted symbol from the miner outside was stark against his purple paint. He wondered what it meant; he'd never seen any vehicon that broke the standard purple look. Kinda figured it was a requirement to look the same. In truth, he was glad for it; it made it easier to kill en masse when the opponent always looked the same and had no face to show pain.

Speaking of faces- the miner glanced at the small tunnel where sunlight was filtering from. Just like the color on his shoulder, the faceplate was unique too; ruined, in truth.

A pang of memory struck him but he did not know why.

The wrecker hunkered down further behind his cover.

In a minute, the miner would probably move on from his inspection. Then he could relax his tensed joints and go back to his own espionage.

That didn't happen though. Instead the vehicon flinched, the undamaged part of his visor going bright in shock. One servo shot up for his neck and Bulkhead's optics followed but then-

The vehicon was gone. The wind had brushed him off balance again and then the miner seemed to vanish.

Bulkhead's optics went wide.

What?

A noise came from the tunnel floor behind him. The wrecker spun around.

The same miner was struggling on the ground, servos tugging at something green on his neck. But Bulkhead wasn't interested in him; his focus was on the vehicon above him.

It should have looked normal. But the movements were wrong. Short canisters were stuck in its thick arms; Bulkhead saw red slosh inside them, seemingly lowering as the liquid was administered to the standing vehicon.

What was more concerning was how it was staring at him.

Its visor was deadly gray.

That. That was not a living con.

But it was moving, holding the struggling miner down, looking straight at him, and then-

The movement seemed fast enough to be teleportation.

It was gone.

Bulkhead stared at the empty tunnel for a few clicks in shock.

Then his finger was at the side of his head and he tried to comm as stealthily as he could.

"Hey, uh...base?"

Static. Being underground was interfering with his comms.

Well, he could retreat.

The wrecker looked at the dragged dust the two vehicons had disrupted.

Or he could settle whatever disturbing thing this was himself as best he could. Bulkhead prepped his guns.

Yeah. That sounded more his style.

The thing he'd seen may have been quick, but it was no ghost; it left a trail behind. And if there was a trail, he could follow it. Bulkhead smirked and started off.

The miner being dragged was big enough that the earth beneath it had been upheaved. The wrecker followed the disrupted ground as it carved a path down another small tunnel. He was forced to transform just to fit, but as this tunnel wound around, his headlights helped him see which route to take at every fork. Hopefully there'd be a better way out of here. One that he preferably could walk out of, rather than drive over the lumps and bumps.

At this point, he was getting farther and farther from the mine. It made him uneasy. What else had its base of operations in this set of caves? Something that looked like a vehicon, apparently stole vehicons, but wasn't one at all.

The narrow tunnel was tall enough for him to stand easily, but still too skinny for him to fit inside of. Bulkhead continued to drive, listening to his own engine echo. It was a bit disconcerting.

Finally, the cave widened out. The wrecker folded up into root mode and looked around with the light of his guns. Tunnels broke apart and slid in different directions like a giant sized anthill; a catacombs, really. A catacombs that the decepticons apparently shared unknowingly.

The trail dragged down one tunnel proceeding upwards.

"Base?" he tried again. Still no response. Bulkhead shrugged and continued on cautiously.

Just as his driving had echoed in these tunnels earlier, the noises from further down the tube began to ring his way. Sounds of machinery working, it seemed like. The wrecker grew even more cautious.

The volume increased the closer he got. A voice, unrecognized. The sound of a radio issuing orders or something. What sounded like winches or cranes moving up and down.

It came from another cavern, much like the mines were built in. But this grotto was smaller than those. The construction in it seemed temporary rather than pseudo-permanent. And it seemed very human as well.

On the other side of the room, Bulkhead thought he saw one of the big metal roll-up doors humans used for warehouses. Was there sun on the other side? So close to this odd base of operations?

That hardly seemed hidden.

But the wrecker remembered how thick the foliage and rocks were out there; so many cave entrances went unnoticed. What was one more, with the door and everything?

The dead opticed vehicon was motionless by a crane. Human trucks were attached to a trailer bed where the living vehicon was strapped down. This time, Bulkhead could see more details; like the green stuck in the drone's neck and how it was joined by more green shards down the flank of his body.

Even without the fumes rising around it, he recognized the stuff. Bulkhead tensed up; he'd thought he'd gotten rid of the Tox-En on this world. But it was still here, and currently was keeping another cybertronian incapacitated.

Time again, humans proved to let their tenacity and creativity make up for what they lacked in size and strength.

The standing vehicon jolted; its head shot up at the green visitor who stood in the entrance. Those capsules of red and the green weapon in its servo all seemed to betray that it was dead; that the Tox-En couldn't affect it anymore.

The lightless visor only hammered in that fact.

Before the thing could move at that ridiculous speed again, Bulkhead shot it. And he shot again. Plasma tore over the miner on the trailer and hit the shielding of the standing vehicon. Then cut through the shielding.

He only stopped shooting when he saw it crumple unflinchingly to the ground. Reanimated dead or not, it was slagging melted; nothing was gonna keep walking with the holes he'd put through it.

The doors of one of the trucks opened quickly. Bulkhead saw the little red laser pointer of a human weapon land on his chassis. He really didn't want to know what those guns had been outfitted with (not after facing something with such speed and utilized Tox-En). The wrecker stepped in close and dropped a wrecking ball down onto the truck while the human leaped to the side. The alien spun around, an over large weapon still in gloved hands and face hidden beneath a mask. Bulkhead changed his mace into a servo and flicked the human away like Miko would a bug.

He figured it would be better for him to not wonder about the lethality of the action.

Better to be oblivious than...what?

Honestly? The Optimus voice in his conscious really couldn't be too loud about this.

There was only one faction of humans Bulkhead would consider capable of this. There was only one group of the aliens whose style it was to strap cybertronians down and turn them into that walking corpse he'd shot just moments before.

This was M.E.C.H. plain and simple.

He'd thought they were gone.

Their fake Optimus had been blown to bits and, last he'd checked, Breakdown had killed Silas.

Yet here they were, buried beneath some jungle and striking terror in the vehicons of the mine back there.

Oh slag- right. Bulkhead turned away from where he was crushing the rest of the human vehicles to look at the miner.

Why did M.E.C.H. have to do all this underground? First that train track in the mountain in Russia, now this cave; lights fastened to the walls to shine down on their test subjects.

They'd really done a number on Breakdown when Bulkhead had gotten there to get him out.

Screwing an optic out and then leaving the rest of the head alone made no sense; it meant their goal had never been the helm- it meant taking that optic out had just been for _fun_.

Bulkhead still came out of recharges with bad memory fluxes of that night. What he had seen was just disturbing to him. It didn't matter if he'd done it just to get a rematch with Breakdown; after walking in on the bad sci fi scene, he would've gotten any mech out of there.

The tools. The way they'd pulled plating apart and left it open. The way they would have eventually cut into the spark chamber.

The fact that they didn't bother to kill first.

The recharges where he'd imagine coming in three or so breems later; his imaginations filling in what state M.E.C.H.'s living experiment would be in at that point.

It terrified him.

M.E.C.H. was bad, plain and simple. Bulkhead didn't like them. He didn't want to leave anyone in their slimy little hands.

The wrecker came nearer to the trailer.

"Autobot?" the drone spat and tried to roll away; the human bindings held.

It always surprised Bulkhead to hear different voices from different vehicons. It really disrupted the identical image their cloned faces had.

This face wasn't identical. This voice was-

Wait, he had heard this voice before!

He'd heard it screaming on a cliff while he and the rest of Team Prime stood below in the valley.

Bulkhead cringed a bit in sympathy. Yeah, he was no fan of drones and had no issue killing them, but...that hadn't been a side of Ratchet he'd liked seeing.

The wrecker kept his guns out while he crouched down by the trailer, looking every direction for more M.E.C.H. agents. Any moment and more could come from one of the tunnels or open that big door or-

The vehicon moved as frantically as his poisoned form could.

"Get a-away, wheel grinder-"

Yeah right. And leave another cybertronian where M.E.C.H. could come finish the job they'd started on Breakdown?

Bulkhead couldn't do that. It would just make the recharge fluxes worse.

The wrecker didn't want to keep dreaming about these sick labs underground. Even if that meant not doing the usual thing and just ripping this drones wires out.

"Don't touch me!" the vehicon screeched but Bulkhead ignored the noise to rip the bindings away. He tossed the chains aside on the cavern floor and did a quick look around the room for options. Path he'd come from? Too tight and too long. Any of these other tunnels? Too unknown.

The door?

He stood up and transformed his servos to maces again. A few vigorous bashes at the steel door made the thing cave in and a good kick at it sent the bent metal crashing to the road beyond it.

No sunlight hit him. Instead, the door had merely been blocking a dirt road with clear tire treads on it. On both sides of the walls, Bulkhead could see other similar commercial doors.

Scrap.

He huffed and returned to the vehicon. The miner started to wriggle away, but Bulkhead grabbed one shoulder and felt the drone beneath go absolutely still. With his free servo, the wrecker tried to pluck the shards of Tox-En out and tossed them to the floor.

M.E.C.H. would probably be here soon.

Well, Bulkhead didn't plan on sticking around til then. He hefted the drone up over one arm and jogged from the room, even as the vehicon began to snarl threats and struggle in his unyielding grip.

"Keep it down," he muttered as he passed by the first sets of doors and looked around the corner. The road continued on.

No need in attracting any more attention.

No need in getting him shot full of toxins and then dragged away to some subterranean lab. Bulkhead had to experience that enough in his recharges.

The miner scraped at his paint and Bulkhead grit his dentae at the sharp sting the claw left behind.

Alright, now he was lost. Scrap, scrap, scrud. The wrecker grumbled and hit the nearest door away. Maybe it'd be something good rather than just another-

Nope. Just another room. Another lab or storage bay.

One of the gray optic'd vehicons with the mods stood unmoving, attached to hanging wires. Different pieces of electrical equipment Ratchet would probably yell at him for breaking sat around the room unrecognized by the former construction mech. Laying against human sized shelves, cybertronian sized weapons had been cut from their owners and left. A few pieces of vehicon miners, still purple instead of grayed yet, were stacked into a truck bed.

That was disturbing.

Bulkhead released his hold and the miner tried to stumble away. Instead of letting him (and therefore watching him fall from the effects of Tox-En), the wrecker set a servo around the skinny violet arm and steered them both for the shelves.

"Miners aren't armed, right?" he asked plainly. The vehicon moved his head so that the working half of his optic lines glared dulled red into Bulkhead's face.

"Didn't think so," the wrecker shrugged and then pulled one of the weapons up and slammed it into the vehicon's arms.

Maybe he was naive. He certainly had been called that before.

Without waiting long, he was tugging the miner in front of him and had one arm forward in its own gun. They turned the next wind in the road and Bulkhead felt his spark soar up. The road was lifting up in elevation. Maybe thi-

The next thought was interrupted by humans. All of them holding oversized weapons. All of them wearing the same mask.

Well, you know what happened to those that all had the same blank face? Bulkhead grinned and started shooting.

They made things easier on him when it came to his own guilt.

The con fumbled with the borrowed gun and then shot as well. Red bolts and blue plasma tore into their alien opposition. Desperation to not be dragged down by M.E.C.H. agents made Bulkhead shoot furiously until the green shards and kinetic bullets were no longer flying out of the smoke towards them.

"Come on-" the wrecker tugged the other forward, "We gotta almost be out of here."

He was right.

The next door he smashed through was the last. It lay across the road and breaking it down made his optics strain at the sudden light.

Without being able to help it, Bulkhead started to grin. He hadn't realized until now just how stressed he was; how strained and overtaxed all his systems were while he had fought to keep anxiety down.

"See?" he looked down at the expressionless vehicon standing limp with Bulkhead's servo around his arm. "We're out! Home free!"

The drone tried to tug away and this time the wrecker let him.

"Hey, mech," Bulkhead sobered up. "I don't wanna fight right now. Besides, you need a medic. You got Tox-En in your system. At least just walk off now instead of trying to make trouble. Or if you really need help, I can call my-"

The vehicon spun and thrust his borrowed weapon into Bulkhead's face. It didn't shoot, but the barrel had been warmed and prepped for firing. The heat made his optic coat over with soot and it just kept coming; the miner kept it on him even as the wrecker began to backpedal. Glass cracked and Bulkhead reached up instinctively to the fried optic. The gun left and the green mech was able to keep his palm right over the burn.

It slagging hurt. He hissed, falling to a knee, and failing to resist the urge to grind his servos against the hurt; broken glass was only ground into wires and protoform by doing this and that just made the pain worse.

See, this was why he always shot first, asked questions (or be nice) never with these guys.

"Tell your medic I said hello-" Bulkhead heard the drone hiss. Foliage crunched under the small con's pedes as he ran away while the wrecker still held at his burning face.

It hurt.

It hurt.

_Enough._

Bulkhead fought his processor to cooperate and think. He was in sunlight now. No matter how thick or tall the trees overhead were, they weren't stone. The comm unit should work.

He sent an SOS over the radio instead of trying to craft up words and then collapsed downwards to cradle his bleeding injury.

* * *

XL-2M99 made it as far as the _Nemesis_ before crashing down. He'd dropped the gun long before- at the edge of the mine, when he'd found he could not hold it any longer. As if the gun itself burned, burned, burned into his servo. He'd run all that way, unable to slow down no matter how the energon in his veins screamed at him. There had been no time to slow down. No time, none at all, or the autobots could have returned behind him. He could have been shoved down and turned onto his back only in time for one of them to land on his chest.

And yet the gun felt like welding fire in his servo as he ran.

It clattered in the dirt while XL-2M99 called in a groundbridge. As he waited for the bridge, he'd turned to stare at the ground near the discarded weapon. He couldn't look straight at it. He couldn't look away without feeling as if it too would creep up behind him.

He felt sick.

The bridge opened and he shot through quickly. The vehicons of the groundbridge control room moved to him- to ask questions, to assist him, to -to -to-

He left them behind to march through the purple halls. The poison in him made the walls waver and the floor moved beneath him. Or perhaps it wasn't the poison at all.

The medbay opened as soon as he keyed for the door. The interim medic shut it immediately and locked it as well. He backed up away from the controls, looking around the room he'd once been a patient in not long before, until his back hit the far wall.

No one was here to see. No one was here to help or comfort. No one was here to take advantage or mock weakness.

XL-2M99 folded down against the floor and shook uncontrollably.


	22. Break Apart, Laugh Together

Knock Out and Breakdown react to Bulkhead's newest injury in wildly varying ways.  
Or in other news, Bumblebee makes a surprising friend and Wheeljack forgets where he is.

_AN- References to previous chapters and Operation: Breakdown abound._

* * *

It was Wheeljack and Ratchet who had gone through the groundbridge to retrieve Bulkhead. The others had still been outside and were filtering in after receiving the alert from the old medic; most of them were lingering, lost in confusion, when the duo returned with the green wrecker in their arms.

Both Ratchet and Wheeljack were small mechs; Bulkhead was second only to Optimus and tied with Breakdown in terms of size. They stumbled under his weight, but somehow were tenacious enough to drag the wrecker to the medbay before any of the others could step in to help.

A little trail of blue lay on the ground behind them.

Somewhere at pede level for the bots, June had gasped. Miko was looking on in shock, unconsciously leaning backwards into Jack and Raf.

"Hey!" Ratchet looked behind himself impatiently. "Where's my second doctor?"

While Knock Out mouthed the words, along with a 'me?', and pointed at himself, the old medic lost what remained of his patience. "Knock Out, get in here and help me!"

That answered whatever question there was. The red mech moved forward at the order and tried to push past Wheeljack to look at the wrecker seated on the berth.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"You _get away_ from him-" Wheeljack spun and hissed at the red mech. A moment later and his optics went wide with recognition. "I-I didn't mean-"

Didn't mean what, exactly?

Knock Out's expression mirrored the one that the wrecker had only moments before wore.

But it couldn't be too unexpected. They'd been enemies for a long time, after all. He and Breakdown had even been personal enemies for Bulkhead and, at times, his smaller partner.

A slip up in memory here or there was only reasonable.

Knock Out didn't feel very reasonable about this. These excuses and causes only arose after he'd found the presence to think again.

Because his first reaction had been insult and hurt. It had been to remember just how good of terms he'd thought he'd been with the wrecker since that first cycle Wheeljack had 'guarded' him.

Wheeljack's expression continued to sink.

"I-"

Then he clammed up on whatever words or apologies he'd been trying to say and shoved his way out of the medbay. The sound of transformation and a car tearing over the pavement was heard behind Knock Out.

Now wasn't the time to think about that. Not while he was supposed to be assisting Ratchet.

The younger medic still looked out at the driveway beyond, where Wheeljack had fled, in a reflection of longing.

It was some time before he'd gotten to follow.

First, he had to help Ratchet. And apparently helping meant handing the cranky mech his tools, adding preliminary energon lines, and placing dialysis patches on what appeared to be little shards of Tox-En.

This felt like assistant work, not a doctor's job. But Ratchet was the doctor here; and he was busy cleaning the melted crater in Bulkhead's face while the green mech feebly protested that he was alright.

After a quarter of an earth hour, Knock Out poked the other's shoulder and asked (not for the first time) "Can I go?"

"Yes, yes," Ratchet grumbled, "Run off, you. That really shows a medic's spirit."

Now that sounded like a trap if he'd ever heard one-

"I meant it," the old mech glanced behind at him, "I don't need you anymore. Clear out of my workspace."

Alright, alright. Knock Out flashed a consoling smile and moved out of the medbay.

The big room was in a different state than before. Bumblebee and Breakdown were sitting on an elongated crate, seemingly waiting for...him? the medbay? Didn't matter. Arcee was against the groundbridge wall, the Prime was still absent on his energon retrieval, and the humans had made themselves scarce.

"Where'd Wheeljack go?" he asked. Breakdown's mouth opened but offered no words. Arcee, on the other servo, pointed.

"Sitting out there," she said.

Sounded easy enough to find. Knock Out slid down into his altmode and revved out just like the wrecker had moments before.

He was easy to find. The sun was a little less bright than it had been earlier when Knock Out and Bumblebee had been racing. Earth's solar cycles were such short things, after all. Its lower position on the horizon silhouetted the shape of the silent wrecker. Wheeljack was sitting on a mound of dirt and stone nearby; one sword was out and he was sharpening it methodically.

The noise was absolutely atrocious.

Thankfully, it tapered out when the wrecker noticed his engine sound growing louder. The blade itself was set aside when Knock Out transformed next to him.

The fighter didn't look up at him.

It made the offense and the disappointment grow.

"Alright, pretty boy," the medic started with a frown. "What was all that about?"

Wheeljack grunted before he tried to speak.

"I didn' recognize you for a moment," his normally confident voice had lowered substantially. "Thought you were comin' to tear him up. I'm sorry."

Well, at least he had the apology now.

It didn't entirely make him feel better. But he wasn't rude like Starscream; he knew proper apologizing/acceptance procedures.

"You should be," he said even though he knew it was not proper procedure at all.

Wheeljack shot up to his pedes and rounded on him.

"What?" the wrecker growled. "What was that?"

"I wouldn't have hurt him!" Knock Out yelled in return. "The scrap is wrong with you for thinking that after everything I've done here! I thought- I thought you were the first to accept me. I thought..."

What, exactly?

"I thought you believed in me."

And it had been nice to feel trusted. It had felt addictingly wonderful.

Being let out of his room, escorted down to the medbay to see Breakdown and confirm his vitals, that first evening he'd defected in? Wheeljack had surprised him.

It felt far more like betrayal than it should have to be snapped at back there. But Knock Out always had been more sensitive to betrayal than healthy mechs. Why else had he so easily turned on Starscream at the end of the war? The seeker had made him feel wanted and respected and then immediately 'threw him under the bus', to use the human expression, when Megatron showed his face next. It had really hurt him. It had really thrown the chances for trusting the flyer 'under the bus' as well.

Wheeljack's face fell.

"...I was just caught up in the moment. That's all. I was worried 'bout Bulk. I'm _still_ worried 'bout him."

Oh, boo hoo; this wasn't about hi-

He shook the thought off even as he stepped way into Wheeljack's personal space.

"Hey-" Knock Out poked at the wrecker. His claw scrapped white paint up, but Wheeljack didn't seem to notice.

"Look, I said I'm sorry," the other snapped back and turned away. "What else you want?"

What did he want?

Well, in all honesty, he wanted a pretty grandiose apology and an erasal of what the wrecker had said earlier so that he never remembered feeling this uneasy betrayal in his system.

But that wasn't very realistic.

"I don't know," Knock Out sighed. "It's just."

When the wrecker moved to leave, he kept going: "Remember what you told me a while back? Loathe as I am to admit it, you were right; Ratchet _is_ a great doctor. Your partner will be fine."

Knock Out wondered if it had been so awkward when it had been Wheeljack trying to do this whole 'comfort' thing.

But he must have done something right. Wheeljack paused in his retreat and his optical ridges rose high.

Seemed he did remember. Or maybe hearing that Ratchet was gonna keep his buddy alive was all he needed.

Pft, it wasn't like the green wrecker had been in fatal danger.

He shook that thought off as well.

"I know. I know he will be. But thanks," Wheeljack gave an unhappy smile. "And I really didn' mean to snap at you."

The wrecker picked up his discard swords and shoved them into their sheathes. Then he had marched away across the Nevada ground towards the opposite end of the plateau the base lay inside of.

Apparently, he didn't want to chat right now. Knock Out knew he shouldn't feel offense at that, but he felt it all the same. The mech slid down to sit by himself on the mound the wrecker had abandoned.

Ugh. All this- this living for others thing was exhausting. It was wearing on him.

Seemed like all he did as of late was try to be good to somebody else, try to do what they wanted, try to listen to their problems.

Knock Out couldn't help but wish they'd focus on him and his feelings one of these days.

That was probably ungrateful. They'd stuck around and watched the Rite the other cycle.

But he felt the frustration anyways.

* * *

Why he was even sitting here waiting to be let into the medbay, Breakdown only somewhat knew. Well, he did know; but he didn't spend any time thinking about that reason.

So far the scout hadn't asked. It wasn't a surprise the yellow mech was waiting to see his green pal.

So far the scout hadn't asked anything period.

They'd just sat here. Together. Waiting.

This was terrible. Breakdown resisted a groan.

They both fiddled with their own servos pointedly to prove they were ignoring each other.

Yes, of course. Neither noticed anything was off. Neither noticed someone was sitting next to them, oh no sir.

Primus. This was awkward.

_"You...you ever going to get that fixed?"_ Bumblebee was the first to break the silence, however hesitantly.

"What?" Breakdown replied, ever eloquently.

The scout's optics whirred. They were very expressive optics, now that he was getting such a close look at them. And here he sat behind a monochromatic lens that made it impossible to express anything.

_"The optic,"_ the scout clarified, _"Ratchet could probably fix it up. We may not have yellows laying around, but-"_

"The...optic." He probably sounded like an idiot right now. Knock Out would probably say he should shut up and let the red mech do the talking. Really, he would if the medic was just around right now.

But Knock Out had ran out after Wheeljack and-

And he was waiting here for- for Bulkhead?

What had happened to his life?

_"Why haven't you tried to fix it?"_ Bumblebee asked.

Oh. Yeah, about that...

"I just...didn't?"

Eloquent.

"_Ok_." The scout looked back down at his fiddling servos.

A moment later and: "_Is there a reason why? Why wouldn't you want to be fixed?_"

Huh, the mech was tenacious. Why would he car-

Oh.

Wait.

Breakdown had a bad feeling he knew what this was about.

"I just didn't want to," he crossed his arms and looked away.

The quiet scout didn't buy it.

_"Do..do you know how I lost my voice?"_

Scrap, no, he was about to have a touchy-feely with an autobot.

Abort, abort-

"No?" Breakdown looked back.

The yellow mech let out whirring laugh.

_"I wouldn't think so. Can I tell you about it?"_

The blue mech froze. "...yeah? Sure. I guess. Spill your guts, kid."

_Abort!_

The way Bumblebee's optics crinkled seemed to say there was a grin underneath the mouthpiece. It seemed to be in response to him giving the kid an all clear to talk.

_"I lost it during the war for Cybertron. To Megatron."_

What? Breakdown found himself suddenly all the way involved in a conversation he'd wanted to leave a nano before.

_"I was a pretty valuable autobot scout, I guess. Got interrogated directly by him. Think your old third in command has a video of the whole thing, not that I need it to relive it."_

_Strapped down on a rail while Silas grinned in greed. Held in the air by Motormaster while the mech tore his plating and pride apart. Stuck in Airachnid's webbing while she crawled closer, pulling her servos along almost intimately while they left behind a trail of agonizing green acid._

"Oh." He didn't worry about such a reply sounding unintelligent anymore. He was busy thinking those thoughts he didn't want to.

"_Yeah_," Bumblebee muttered down to his own servos. "_He ended up saying that since I liked being silent so much, I might as well stay that way_."

"Really?" Breakdown asked.

The smile under the mouthpiece was gone. The scout's face was drawn in what seemed to be anger.

_"Yeah. Not his exact words, but...I remember exactly what he said. I don't think I could forget it. Doesn't mean I want to hear it spoken to the air, you know?"_

_We intend to pull you apart-_

_I thought you wanted to get me alone. Why so scared, big guy-_

_Useless, paranoid, little coward-_

_Since you evidently aren't squeamish, I'll allow you to watch-_

"I do," the blue mech confirmed.

The yellow mech looked up at him. Before he could speak, however, Breakdown couldn't help but blurt out: "And you never talked?"

The scout released a few angry glyphs. "_No_."

"That..." What, Breakdown? What exactly do you say next when you try to comfort someone? _'That sucks?'_ "...'s impressive. Really impressive."

There was an awkward pause.

It built up inside- or, no. That was the wrong description. It had been building up since the scout had started his story. Now it pushed forward and Breakdown knew-

He knew what he wanted to say and never could. He couldn't say it to Knock Out; he didn't want it to feel dismissed or trivial. If not Knock Out, who? A vehicon maybe but he'd never had the time.

Bumblebee had time. Enough time to have sat here and talked about how he lost his voice.

"I don't know if I could've stayed quiet," Breakdown muttered, "If that's what they were after. They weren't, of course," he tried to brush off with a short bark of laughter, "No information I could say interested them; just what I was made out of."

_Full disclosure? We intend to pull you apart._

_Break you down, if you will._

Even after crushing the squishy underpede, Breakdown heard his voice.

Even after killing him, he still shuddered at the memories.

_Strapped down on a rail while Silas grinned in greed. The scarred face continuing to stare at him as the drill retreated and Breakdown let his head fall to the side in shock. A face that would probably smile throughout this all; even after his spark had given out (and then the panic, stalled by the lack of physical pain, rose rose rose)_

"I could say anything at all and it wouldn't have appeased them. Probably...probably would've started trying, if they'd gotten any deeper before he-" the blue mech nodded in the medbay's direction "-got me out."

How disgusting would that have been?

If being weak made him a _turncoat, traitor, fragger,_ what would begging have made him?

Breakdown felt the uncomfortable need to thank his rival for keeping him from falling that far. He shook the thought away.

_"No one can blame you,"_ Bumblebee soothed. _"Keeping quiet in an interrogation is one thing. But when they're hurting you without the purpose of getting you to talk- you lose the one thing that you can hold onto in an interrogation: power. The power to speak. The power to stay silent. If there's nothing to gain by silence..."_

The blue mech sighed. "Why are we talking about this?"

There wasn't a need to abort this conversation anymore, no, but he still felt really uneasy feeling like he had failed in something a sparkling had succeeded in.

_"Just thought you may need to talk about it,"_ the scout said. _"I did have a point though. I don't have my voice because there were no replacement voice boxes for the medics to have given me. By the time Ratchet could have made a delicate enough substitute, my protoform had already grown over the gap. I can't...I can't get a replacement. But I really-"_

He exvented loudly.

_"I really want to speak again. Not make the same noises everybody does in Primal Vernacular, but actually speak."_

Those blue optics slid over to stare unflinchingly into his singular yellow one.

_"So why don't you want to see again?"_

For whatever reason, Breakdown felt like his tanks had gone dry.

No wonder this mech was a scout. He was far too observant and blunt to be anything else.

"I-what do you mean?" he started up instinctively and then cut the protests off when Bumblebee's stare did not change. "...it -It's a reminder. To never fail again."

The stare still didn't change. It seemed his answer had not surprised the mech.

"I..."

What? I _what_? Primus, he was bad at this.

Hearing how Bumblebee wanted his voice back and medically could not have it made his decision to patch his missing optic in remembrance of failing lord Megatron (like he really still needed to be worried about _that_) feel...

Insignificant? Petty? Hollow?

Now he was thinking in big words. No more ineloquence here.

And as bad as he felt about himself in comparison, there was no more urgent want to _abort_ the conversation either.

Ratchet interrupted them when he trudged out of the medbay. The tired medic looked over both of them.

"Bee. Go ahead." While the scout stood, Ratchet glared at Breakdown. "You better not harass him or you'll answer to me."

"I'm not gonna bother him," the bigger mech shrugged him off. The attitude made the old medic give out one of his very-much-judgemental grumbling sighs as he stomped by.

Breakdown didn't wait for the medic to be out of hearing before he poked at the scout's shoulder.

"Hey." Bumblebee looked behind him and waited. "Can we...continue _this_\- " whatever it was "-later?"

Maybe if he vented it all-

Maybe Silas and Airachnid and the Stunticons and wreckers of old would disappear.

The scout gave a human gesture.

_"Of course we can. If you want to."_

The blue mech sat back down on the crate while he waited for Bumblebee to finish. It seemed the yellow mech remembered there was a line behind him, because the scout vacated the medbay not all that long after entering.

With his normal dumb brute confidence, Breakdown swaggered forth.

Bulkhead was sitting on the berth. There was a patch over the left side of his head and fresh welds were visible beneath it.

The wrecker looked at him warily. The ex-stunticon remained silent for a while.

There was an almost hostile pause.

Breakdown just looked at him for a minute during it. Then he grunted.

"Huh. Left side. Between the two of us," he pointed at both their faces, "we have perfect vision."

The words soaked in for a moment of silence. And then, despite how he imagined he'd react, Bulkhead began to laugh.


	23. Debriefings

Both the autobots and decepticons mull over what they now know of M.E.C.H. and consider their next moves.

* * *

Soundwave saw almost every occurrence on the ship.

He saw when two vehicons left and one returned to crumple in the medical bay.

He saw when Dreadwing finally moved out from his own room, where he had spent the last cycle burning innermost energon for his deceased twin.

He saw when the two seemingly loyal decepticons reconvened, just as they had briefly met together before Dreadwing had departed on his search for the Iacon relic in the antarctic.

_Seemingly loyal_ because Soundwave could no longer trust any decepticon to be so.

_Almost every_ because he had failed in the past at seeing every occurrence on this ship.

Soundwave refused to fail again.

And whatever Dreadwing and the vehicon wished to speak about, they could say to him.

Whether or not they knew that they were doing so was irrelevant.

* * *

The autobots crowded around the main room.

Optimus had returned with a singular cube of energon. It hardly seemed important in light of what Bulkhead had returned with.

Agent Fowler had flown in after hearing about the injury.

"You hardly need to come in person-" Ratchet had protested over the comm.

_«Nothing doing,»_ the human had cut him off. _«I'm coming over.»_

Breakdown was just leaving the medbay when Fowler walked in on the catwalk. He took one look at the welds and frowned.

"Looks pretty bad, two ton. You doing alright?"

The mech departing overheard that and a part of Bulkhead's laughing reply; he shook his own head as he walked. Weirdos.

It was nearing sunset before Optimus returned to the base. As was common, there was a somber air around their leader as he set his one cube aside and went to speak with Bulkhead.

After he had returned, Wheeljack sulked into the base again. Where Optimus was somber, the wrecker was seething. It didn't take long for Miko to find him. Both were angry at whatever con had hurt Bulkhead; both were anxious that their friend would not recover. The fear was over nothing. Ratchet delivered good news to every waiting bot.

"He'll be fine," the doctor reassured. "I'll keep him for a while to finish repairs, but he should only walk out of this with a few scars at worst."

Breakdown thought of the scout. Of his words- _"The optic- Ratchet could probably fix you up."_ He wondered if he should try to get those same repairs his rival would apparently be getting.

Maybe he should at least consider it.

Then again, Knock Out would probably have a spark attack seeing him with two unmatching optics.

"Yeah," Bulkhead himself tried to laugh, almost heaving up from where he'd been seated. A quick glare from every medically inclined bot in the room changed his mind and the wrecker slumped back into his seat again. "What I mean is, don't be so worried for me."

Tapping a claw against his arm, Knock Out hummed. "I concur. I, for one, would rather be more worried about whatever bot did that to you."

"Same-" Miko snapped from where she stood on Wheeljack's pede. "Who was it? Dreadwing? Some new con? Who?"

"It wasn't a new officer," Bulkhead answered first, "And this also is the least of our worries."

That seemed to bridge the conversation into the debriefing stage.

"He's right." This time it was Fowler who butted in. The agent leaned against the catwalk rail and frowned at the waiting circle of autobots. "Bulkhead stumbled across some real prime info- and it's bad news for all of us."

The bots looked at each other in concern. Fowler waited a moment for their attention to return (or perhaps just to add suspense) before dropping the one word bombshell.

"M.E.C.H."

Silence descended.

Bumblebee broke it first with a subdued warble. Quickly following his response, Jack clenched his fists and both his eyes and his mother's went distant. Arcee crossed her arms and frowned down at the floor. Breakdown felt his spark sink as he realized killing Silas had not erased the organization.

All of them had faced M.E.C.H. in the past. All had either lost or almost lost something (or someone) in those incidents.

"It's true," Bulkhead leaned over his knees. "I caught 'em messing around at that mine I've been scouting."

"How? Do the cons there not realize there's a bunch of miniatures running around knee height?" Arcee asked.

Optimus stepped in before any more chaos could fester.

"Perhaps Bulkhead should tell us of these recent events," the Prime spoke evenly.

* * *

Dreadwing knocked on the metal door. It was not locked, or at least he'd never known the medbay to be locked, but the seeker felt as though that would be correct courtesy.

There was no response. He took a step back.

"Soundwave?" he radioed, "Is our medic on board?"

While the communications officer did not verbally respond, Dreadwing was sent an immediate picture of the vehicon crouched on the floor of the medbay; the timestamp showed it to have been taken directly after his question.

He rapped on the metal of the door again.

This time, it opened a few moments later. XL-2M99 stood with a servo on the locking mechanism and optic lines on him.

"Are you injured?" the drone rasped.

Something was wrong. Dreadwing was not so oblivious that he could miss that.

"I am not," the seeker answered slowly.

For a moment, he thought the vehicon would snap at that, order him away.

Instead, he did not speak. The visor remained on him unmoving and unreadable.

Dreadwing stepped through the doorway and entered the room. XL-2M99 keyed the door shut behind him, but did not move from the controls.

The bigger mech narrowed his optics suspiciously on the drone. While that blank faceplate may have been unreadable, the servo still resting on the lock was twitching.

"Are you injured?" he repeated the vehicon's earlier question.

XL-2M99 straightened like a rod in shock.

"No-" the drone hissed, but his reaction a moment before betrayed any chance of Dreadwing believing that.

The seeker looked around the medbay. Two medical berths lay in their proper spots. The tables by them contained various medical tools and small jars containing green shards: toxins. The doors to the secondary rooms were shut. The medic's desk was pushed out of place; a piece of Earth vegetation and spilt dirt lay over the metal, joined by a few tablets and sharp clipping tools.

He didn't remember this place being messy. The only other visits he'd taken here of late seemed to hint that the current medic stand-in was very orderly.

The picture Soundwave sent re-entered his mind, but Dreadwing wasn't sure why it was important.

"Do you need assistance in here? It is quite a mess."

If he expected the drone to bristle, he was disappointed. XL-2M99 didn't do much in terms of response.

Dreadwing turned to face the vehicon.

"From the start, I have not considered you a trained or skilled medic. But you have done the best you can without training," the seeker said, "-and I am impressed."

It didn't seem that XL-2M99 was impressed with him, however.

"Where is XL-8K9C?" the drone stepped closer to say. "If you are here, do you have news of him?"

The answer was not satisfactory. Dreadwing looked away to frown.

"I have no news..." he admitted.

One half of the former miner's visor burned bright crimson.

"Is that so? Because I believe I have news. More than you seem to have dug up with all your _training_ and _skill_."

* * *

"So I was just out watching the mine. The cons at this mine, they've been acting weird every time I've scouted the place. Spooked. I figured I wanted to find out why."

Bulkhead rubbed at his neck cabling again with an awkward chuckle.

It was better than rubbing at the itchy welds. He didn't really care to be lectured by Ratchet about needing those.

"Anyway, so I was watching this one con and felt a...wind? That's what it felt like; like someone had ran by me. Not long after, I felt it again- but this time, the con I was spying on was just up and gone. Then there was this noise up the tunnel behind me and when I turned I saw some other vehicon. Its visor was offlined, don't think there was a spark or anything in it. But it was moving, just like that fake Optimus did. And it had these canisters in its arms; there was some sort of red stuff in them that was dropping as it stood there. And then-"

He waved both arms forward with a shoofing noise.

"Just gone."

There was another silence while that was digested.

Arcee shivered. "Yeah. Sounds like M.E.C.H. necromancy again."

"Of greater concern, it sounds as though they have found and refined red energon," Ratchet grimaced.

From the catwalk, Raf piped up: "What's red energon?"

"It is an extremely rare and volatile form of energon. Refined into fuel, it provides the power of hyperspeed."

The medic's words sunk in.

"Scrap-" at least three bots and a human or two said in unison.

"How'd the humans come across that stuff?" Wheeljack asked.

A good question; but one without an answer.

"It's not all they got their slimy hands on," the green wrecker growled, "They were using some sort of weapon that shot shards of Tox-En. I thought we took care of that stuff, but apparently not. And they seem to be cutting con weaponry off the vehicons they nab."

None of that was good news.

"By the Allspark..." Ratchet's optics went wide. "Is there no end to M.E.C.H.'s barbarism?"

The three bots who'd been under M.E.C.H.'s scalpel at some point grunted. A different mech among them considered a different world, where the humans had planted themselves in his partner's corpse. In answer to Ratchet's rhetorical question: No, there was not.

"I've been telling the boys in green this all along!" Fowler threw his arms up in frustration. "I'll increase all surveillance for M.E.C.H. and try to crack down on what agents we got hiding in plain sight in the U.S."

"Many thanks, agent Fowler," Optimus said. "We, too, must move to uncover M.E.C.H.'s plans and operations. This mine you uncovered-" he turned to Bulkhead, "-will be our starting point.

Before any further plans could be made, Miko was piping up again.

"So it was some humans who did this?" she pointed at her guardian's facial injury. "I'll fu-"

"Actually, no." The wrecker denied with a shake of his head while Jack waved emergency 'no's' at the other teen (his mom was still here, after all). "It, uh. It was a vehicon."

In the pause that descended, Knock Out stifled a snort with his servo.

Being almost taken down by a vehicon was just_ too embarrassing._

"One singular drone did this?" Wheeljack asked. "Was it one of M.E.C.H.'s outfitted fighters?"

"Nope. A living miner."

The schadenfreude Knock Out was experiencing grew.

A miner?

Oh this got better and better.

"Yeah," the green wrecker rubbed his neck, "Um, I think it was a meant to be message."

Ratchet blew out a huff.

"There's n-"

"For you," Bulkhead looked at him and the medic went still.

Then he tried to brush it off.

"Preposterous. Why me and not Optimus?" Ratchet narrowed his optics. "You're not making sense."

Bulkhead lifted a servo over his facial welds absently. "Naw, I am. It was for you."

"From a vehicon? Why-"

"He had half his face burnt up too," the wrecker interrupted bluntly; one finger still sat on his injury in emphasis.

This time, Ratchet made no protest. He had frozen where he stood. Then, abruptly, the medic straightened up.

"Excuse me," he mumbled and pushed away past the others.

* * *

In truth, he had not allowed himself time to mull on his failures of late.

Losing his squadron to Starscream's claws. Losing the relic to those same claws.

Failing to kill the traitors and the Prime.

Failing to return the vehicon brothers to each other.

But in his failure to retrieve the relic, subsequent lambasting from his Lord, and horrid reminder that his twin was dead (and his murderers ran free)-

He had shoved all thought of this vehicon's, and the others, request. Instead of considering them, he had returned to his own room to honor and mourn his fallen brother.

Dreadwing felt like a sparkless glitch.

"I'm...I'm-"

The medic looked away; that, at least, seemed to take some of the miserable weight off.

"Don't bother," XL-2M99 muttered quietly. "That's not important. What is-wh...what is-"

_What is_ was _what_?

The seeker felt it would be wrong to push. Not now, not after shoving one brotherhood behind his own.

"What is-" the vehicon finally spat out, "important is whatever human...thing...I saw at the mine XL-8K9C went missing in."

Humans? They were hardly important.

The evident fear radiating from the miner made Dreadwing uneasily reconsider that.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"A monster," the other answered, "It dragged me away into parts of the cave system the miners don't realize exist yet. It moved so quickly I could not react. And it looked like us; it looked like a vehicon, but whoever it may have been was dead. The humans were the ones in control."

Reanimating the dead to use so callously?

Dreadwing did not like that thought; he considered Skyquake's fallen form and the desecration these apparent humans could enact upon his resting corpse.

The unease grew.

"Do you believe..?" he voiced the worry warily. XL-2M99 bent his neck as he looked as far away from the seeker as he physically could; the drone's servos grabbed his own arms in mock comfort.

"What else am I supposed to? Can I really assume he is still alive? That any of them are?"

_I will do my best to return your brothers to you all._

Failing-

Failing-

Continuous, unending, failures-

The seeker looked unwaveringly at the medic. He found that his mind was made up, regardless of if this was a mission assigned by his master or not.

"Which mine was this?" Dreadwing asked lowly.

* * *

The insecticon watched the car exit the small city.

It had watched it drive through the urban environment the night before to confirm its importance.

Where it was driving hardly mattered to Airachnid.

All she cared about was the address it had come from .

_Thank you, Silas._

His hunt on human social media had offered her such results, after all.

And Airachnid was far from ungrateful.


	24. I'm A Hold My Cards Close

Knock Out attempts to learn how to dis-attach from Breakdown's side, with some help from another bot.  
Dreadwing begins his investigation and an Iacon relic crashes down to Earth.

_AN- Title comes from the ID song Polaroid_

* * *

A cybertronian pod tore through Earth's atmosphere.

Inside was a young autobot rookie trapped in stasis; placed on him, not by an enemy as he assumed, by the old master he'd been tasked to protect.

Inside that rookie lay something that Alpha Trion trusted only with one mech alive.

Falling now through the stratosphere towards a coniferous forest in the north americas, the pod's exterior burned and peeled. But it was built to withstand any atmosphere. It was built to survive any fall.

Alpha Trion could not allow it to come to a fiery end anymore than he could let it fall into the servos of the decepticons.

After all, this pod, only big enough to fit one cybertronian in stasis, contained a cargo far more precious than any one bot.

* * *

Dreadwing circled in the air above SA:9. He had blown the trees away earlier to give himself a better view of the ground.

Tire treads. Ones that did not all match vehicon treads.

So the story told by the drone was true. There were humans here. Humans messing with things they shouldn't be.

He flew downwards to find the weapon XL-2M99 reported dropping.

It was not on the ground.

But the seeker worried that such a lack of sighting it was not due to the entire story being fabricated. Rather, it seemed, the humans may have stolen their abominable weapon back. Their caves of hidden atrocities, after all, had vanished as well.

The tracks were a mixture of human trucks (he had cross-ran the images left in the dirt with the wide repository of knowledge the humans shared on their 'internet' to confirm what model and make the tires were and which type of vehicles such wheels were used on) and vehicon treads. If the story was true, these vehicon tracks were not from any of the decepticons nearby; rather, they were from the puppets these humans had made.

But he could find no such abominations nor any living captives in the many caves the humans had been using.

So this was scrubbed. The prisoners were transported elsewhere. These humans were of a large enough group to have multiple bases of operations.

Soundwave had provided information regarding the humans that had apparently captured the traitor Breakdown while Dreadwing himself was still traversing space. In all likelihood, these were the same. The communications officer had caught sight of their operations spanning multiple continents and yet they were hard to trace in full; even for one as skilled as Soundwave.

It made the seeker even more uneasy.

This new knowledge, combined with the story of XL-2M99 and the tread marks he had found here had convinced him:

It was all true.

Dreadwing rose higher, prepared to follow these tracks through whatever borders to find those he had promised to bring back.

* * *

"You jealous?"

The voice caught him off guard. Knock Out jolted forward and cursed as he scrapped against the wall. Spinning around to see the culprit only revealed a smug looking Arcee. She was smirking at him.

"I-wel-what? What are you accusing me of?" he asked and her smirk grew.

"Really?" she asked, unimpressed. "You're standing here, spying on those two, jumping when you're caught- and you really think I'm not going to see what this is?"

Put like that...

Well, she had caught him (both in the act and the lie- he was spying and he was jealous).

Lately, Breakdown had been...distracted. Or preoccupied, rather. Instead of spending free time with Knock Out, like he had at the start of this venture (even if the blue mech himself had seemed bored as he sat unoccupied while the medic read), he was distant.

On the bright side, he seemed to actually be invested in the autobots of the base now.

Knock Out wasn't sure if he was reading that right. He (a normally over-confident mech) was not exactly confident in his ability to read his partner.

He had thought going back would allow him to try to fix that. He thought he would be able to look at Breakdown and break down his person in an attempt to categorize and understand the mech like he had been doing with Team Prime after the end of the war.

Somehow, it didn't feel like he had.

Somehow, it felt like going back had also meant going back to old roles; like merely seeing and speaking with Breakdown again had returned him to his previous way of viewing other mechs (or, more specifically, viewing Breakdown).

Was he really going to blame himself for trying to get past that roadblock?

Was he really going to feel guilt over trying to get a more accurate analysis of what the mech was like rather than see the role he'd created for the guy?

Knock Out had noticed them as he finished refining one of Ratchet's practice formulas. They were led by the scout, who was bouncing his way over to where the humans kept their tiny little television screen. Breakdown was following.

Well, well, what was this?

He'd almost joined them.

But somehow he got the_ intense feeling_ that this wasn't meant to include him.

What had given him that impression, he wasn't sure. Whether it was a signal given off by either of the mechs, or how they had marched past the medbay without looking at him- did it really matter? What mattered was the other intense feeling such a hunch gave him.

Insult was a glitch.

Still, what was Bumblebee thinking? Was he trying to watch a movie? Pft, then he'd grabbed the wrong mech. Knock Out was the one who loved a good human horror film. Really, he should have grabbed the medic from the get go and they could've laughed like the good old days on an alternate cybertron-

Wait.

And then a different thought had replaced any jealous offense.

Was he the one who loved it? Did Bumblebee somehow find out something about Breakdown's entertainment tastes?

_Something that perhaps Knock Out didn't know yet?_

Maybe, if he snuck a peek, he could find out. And then maybe he could surprise his partner with that knowledge.

And this time, he would know with better certainty that Breakdown's surprised happiness was really his and not Knock Out's own projecting.

The idea was far too appealing to pass up.

The medic had tiptoed out of the medbay to spy from the hall. A part of him expected the duo to turn around and notice him (call him over).

Instead, the blue mech was dragging his pedes behind the yellow bot.

"-looks boring," he was muttering.

Bumblebee ignored the comment, pulling over one of the makeshift seats with a flourish and gesturing at it.

_"It's a classic! The herald of the age of westerns; Ennio Morricone practically cemented iconic cowboy music. You've got to see it!"_

"How can it be a classic if it's less than a vorn old?" Breakdown grumbled, but shuffled to the seat the scout had prepared regardless of protests.

Whatever they were watching was far too tiny to see from his spot in the hall.

But far more interesting than some human movie was the dynamic he was looking at.

Bumblebee was supposed to be his friend.

Wait, no, that wasn't the right thinking-

It was around that time when Arcee had decided to scare the living daylights out of him.

"Fine." Knock Out mirrored her posture and crossed his own arms. "You caught me. I was spying. But it wasn't why you think!"

"That so?" the two-wheeler lifted one brow.

Then she looked past him at the movie viewing. Her arms unfolded and one waved for him to follow.

"Think you can tell me then? After getting out of their way, I mean."

Seemed fair enough.

More than fair.

The insult and sting he'd felt earlier at being excluded vanished under a distracting enough glee.

She wanted to talk with him.

There was a key verb in there that mattered far more than it should have.

They vanished from the room where his partner and the mute scout were watching some old drab earth movie and found themselves in the training center.

"So." Arcee turned on him. "What's going on with you?"

That was a very broad question with a very broad set of answers.

Knock Out opted to cop out that way.

"What isn't?" he chuckled. "M.E.C.H. is still kicking and probably has their sights on one of the test subjects they let get away. Airachnid is who knows where and we're both pretty sure she holds a grudge. The war isn't exactly over. The om- There just seems to be a standstill, that's all."

She glanced to the side to frown.

They both knew it was true enough.

And, as was typical, the name of her old partner's murderer always served to rile her up.

Knock Out remembered how he had reacted to Breakdown's death. How Dreadwing had tried to offer words of comfort he hadn't understood. How even Megatron had not assigned any missions until he himself had volunteered for the one to New York.

How he hadn't understood what death meant in relation to him until C.Y.L.A.S. had appeared.

That had thrown all pretenses out of the window.

Death was an abstract. The loss of something so familiar in everyday life should have quickly elicited grief.

But it took time for him to notice the absence of the familiar.

He noticed it in the way he couldn't reach certain spots while buffing himself. He noticed it in the absence of loyalty Starscream had shown with the mere words _"It's Knock Out's fault!";_ loyalty he always could take for granted with his now-deceased partner.

It was seeing Breakdown, though, seeing him walk, seeing his metal rusted and paint distorted in a way Knock Out never would have allowed, seeing him pander to Megatron in a way so vastly out of his usual way-

The human's voice leaving whenever his mouth opened-

The missing optic replaced and unbalanced with the monochromatic filter on the other-

Wrong, wrong, _wrong_

Maybe death was an abstract that was too far from what he could see that he couldn't react to it.

But seeing Breakdown again twisted so _wrong_?

That was no unreachable abstract.

That had been a slap in the face.

And he had reacted to it.

On Cybertron, he and Arcee had ended up discussing such. After all, both had lost their partners towards the end of the war.

Her reaction was right. His felt off. "_But that's grief,_" she'd said when he described the feelings seeing C.Y.L.A.S. (she was the only autobot he dared discuss the entire C.Y.L.A.S. debacle with; the others were just far too much of bleeding sparks to understand his, ahem, reaction to it all) had brought about. _"But it's not how you described yours!"_ he had protested. Arcee had taken none of that. "_Everyone grieves differently. Hey, even the sickest of bots can grieve. It won't look like grief does on the rest of us, but it's there. Your process doesn't have to look like ours."_

The way she said it? It made him feel excluded from the whole 'sickest bots' category she'd mentioned.

"I mean," he started up hesitantly, "What would you do? If-" Oh, like he'd forget the name when Starscream mentioned it nearly every cycle; but he had to act a little slow with it here. The Arcee here hadn't ever talked about her offlined partner. "...Cliffjumper survived, would you change? Wouldn't you panic at the possibility of losing him? Stress about whether you'd been doing things wrong before and fate had given you a second chance to correct that?"

It took her a while to respond. Knock Out worried during the silence that maybe she was going to blow up over hearing her partner referred to.

Finally, Arcee turned back to him.

"I don't think so. Cliff always told me when I was acting out of line. Even if I'm not a very open bot, he always spoke enough for the two of us to understand where we stood with each other. But if I did have a second chance, I...I would freak out over the possibility of almost losing him again." She grew quieter when she added: "Primus knows how I acted after losing Tailgate."

She remained somber for a moment. Then the two-wheeler brightened up into sarcasm again.

"Look-" Arcee said, giving him an amused glance. "None of this is an excuse to act like a creeper."

A moment later and she tagged on: "Bee needs friends. Let him have this."

The garbled noise the medic made was better left untranslated. He was confused, and irritated about being confused, and confused about being irritated, and-

It was a mess.

"I don't understand why they're doing this!" Knock Out started up in frustration. Arcee cut him off.

"Do you think Breakdown understands why we hang out?"

Oh.

He hadn't considered that.

Why couldn't he just naturally wonder scrap like that? Life would be so much easier if he was just _normal_.

"Look," the two-wheeler sighed. "Honestly, I'm just trying to give you a helping servo. Maybe, instead of being clingy, you can follow Breakdown's lead. Try to let go a little bit. You've been attached to the hip ever since Airachnid almost killed him and I think...I think it's suffocating him. Both of you."

Knock Out didn't want to accept that.

They were supposed to be connected. They were supposed to act attached. It was the whole reason they'd sacrificed so much running from the Stunticons.

But he hadn't found it crippling to live on his own before; it was the curiosity that crippled him. It was the fragging autobot 'friendships' that made him eat himself in wonder over who Breakdown really was.

Stupid autobots, he thought endearingly.

"Hey." Arcee piped up again. "All this you're going through, he's going through, I'm going through; it's not forever. The war is gonna end someday. I'm sure Optimus will get us through to that end. All of us."

She offered him one of those rare smiles that didn't feel sarcastic.

"We're both going to make it."

His own expression melted into one of relief.

Had he mentioned yet he had really missed her when she'd left him behind on Cybertron?

* * *

"Follow the light."

Bulkhead rolled his one good optic.

"Come on, Ratch, it's fin-"

Honestly, listening to wreckers try to ignore their medics was a bit familiar. The Stunticons had often whined similarly. Dead End used to slip away from any of Knock Out's check ups with some excuse about how useless medicine was when they 'were all going to die anyway'. Wildrider wouldn't ever hold still long enough for a check up. Heatseeker would comply, but only just; unless he was bleeding more than the 'other guy', he thought they were useless too. And Motormaster?

Well, they all had known just how much he had cared about having a medic on the team.

Really, Breakdown had been the only one to behave in routine check ups.

If the doctor had been someone else, he may have been far less excited about going.

But Knock Out didn't treat him like an idiot. If Breakdown asked, he would explain each technique he was doing.

One cycle, he was trying to restrain a wriggling Wildrider and had turned right to the blue mech.

"_Well? Get over here and help out!"_ he'd said and Breakdown had done just that.

It hadn't ended with helping hold the impatient con down; the medic would let him run energon lines, administer medical grade, other such small, assistant tasks.

He'd begun as the assistant while they were still in the Stunticons.

It was much later that he'd started calling himself a nurse.

Long after they both had left the Stunticons behind.

Whoever they practiced on after that were strangers. Randoms. Important officers, sometimes, but unknowns all the same.

Giving check ups to strangers felt very different from doing it to a teammate.

Sometimes, during their travels, he'd missed the times they'd administer physical exams to one of the other Stunticons.

Sometimes, he'd missed being one of the Stunticons.

He had often wondered what had happened to the team.

Which one's were still alive, if any. What they were doing now.

He'd never had the nerve to research the answers.

"It is not fine until I say it is," the autobot medic interrupted with a roll of his optics.

Huh. Autobot medic.

He guessed there wasn't just one anymore.

Knock Out was prancing around with that symbol these days. There were two, then. And so long as Knock Out worked here, Breakdown was going to be his assistant.

Or Ratchet's, when the situation demanded it.

Though the old medic didn't want him helping just now.

It was better that he not work in the medbay when either of the wreckers were patients, or so the line of thought went.

Honestly?

Smart idea.

Even if Breakdown hadn't really...felt a whole lotta hate towards the green guy these days.

In truth, he'd been hard to hate ever since the bot had broke him out of M.E.C.H.'s lab.

All this meant was that as Ratchet tried to make sure that Bulkhead's replacement optic (a messy, scraped together thing) continued to operate well, he stood out of the way organizing the medical report.

Part of him was distracted by looking at the weird replacement optic on the green mech. If he did what the scout recommended, he could get one of those scrappy optics too. And having a full range of vision and depth perception was pretty wonderful. So why did he feel so hesitant to do it?

A short distance away, Ratchet let Bulkhead off the berth.

"Alright, go," he waved him away, "But remember to do your expressional reps."

"Aww, Ratch, but Miko and I were gonna-"

"No excuses!" the medic interrupted, "You don't want-"

_-those facial muscles to atrophy,_ Breakdown thought at the same time the medic said it.

See? Knock Out had done just fine at teaching him his stuff. Sure, he was no medic but Breakdown knew his fair share.

He moved out of the way as Bulkhead left the medbay. The green mech nodded at him and he returned the gesture briefly.

Better than ignoring each other's existence, he supposed.

Everytime Optimus saw this sort of interaction, he looked as if he was going to step in and...what? Offer a bunch of praise and compliments now that they could tolerate each other?

That sounded incredibly uncomfortable. He hoped the Prime wouldn't try it.

The wrecker had barely made it a few steps away before the little human pet (called Raf, he was pretty sure) called both the bots over. Ratchet sighed and left his tools where they were to go investigate; as he would have with Knock Out, Breakdown moved over to start putting the tools away for the medic.

"What is it?" Bulkhead asked from the other side of the partition.

"If it's just another Bumblebee sighting...wait. Is that a cybertronian escape pod? In Earth's atmosphere?"

Huh. It'd been a few days since any sort of excitement had happened. Looked like the fun was about to start again.


	25. While The Cat's Away

While the bots are off getting the newest cybertronian to land on Earth, Fowler steps up to investigate a M.E.C.H. hotspot.

_AN- Brief cussing and Airachnid are in this chapter, so that's your head's up folks_

* * *

It wasn't just the Tox-En. These humans had their own stores of distilled energon. They had red energon supplies; apparently stretched and replicated from one small source.

They even had troopers of their own.

The very obviously dead ones, yes; those were unsurprisingly human creations.

But also one's quite good at infiltrating normal drone troops.

She'd discovered that rather unpleasantly. A perfectly normal insecticon had returned from scouting the jungle they'd tracked a small group of these humans too. She could feel its spark in there. But she could not see through its optics. She could not control it.

Well, that was a horrid surprise. Airachnid had torn into the insecticon to find the problem. If there was a viral strain or something similar making these mindless drones rebellious, she would-

And her rage had calmed as she looked into the innards of the drone.

The spark was pulsing frantically. That much looked like any other bug's. It reacted to hers, straining out for a dominant spark, straining for a _queen_.

Strange.

She used one of her extra limbs to cut into the insecticon's helm while she was still watching the odd spark behavior.

Ah. So _that's_ where the problem was. Airachnid had done her fair share of vivisections in interrogations and dissections afterwards. The pastime had taught her the basics of cybertronian anatomy. And that thing she was watching spark in front of her was not a processor.

It was a lobotomized mess.

Airachnid had pried it lose to inspect it closer.

Sloppy craftsmanship, but not bad. Not bad at all.

She chuckled even as the drone beneath her strained for rescue from the queen its spark remembered while its processor tried to get the body it controlled to fight.

Oh, she _liked_ this planet.

Too many of the other one's she'd visited had these funny little delusions. They operated on _honor_ and _rules_ and sticky little _morals_. It was fun, in its way, to watch them crumble in disbelief when she didn't adhere to their stupid honor codes. Just like it was fun to beat them at their own games with their own rules.

The primary intelligence on this planet though?

They didn't have any of that honor scrap. Obviously. This little thing below her was evidence of that.

Airachnid crushed through the processor and watched as the human behind it left without so much as a care over remaining for their puppet's pain. The insecticon, though she couldn't exactly see its facial expression (since she had rather ruined said face, not that the world could really miss such an ugly mug), seemed to be panicking. Oh, so it was back behind the wheel?

How sad.

She finished up her work with the corpse; there was no use leaving a job half done.

Afterwards, she had taken the crushed processor to the throne room her drones had pieced together for her. A few stolen monitors from mines, a few screens hung on the dirt walls, a comfortable place to lounge in above all others- comfy and luxurious enough, considering the circumstances. The processor was tossed onto one of the metal slabs they were using as a desk. She shouldn't have crushed it so badly. It would have been better to cut it open, see how it ticked. But she was impatient; it was a fatal flaw. She should have waited to pitch the coup attempt on the Nemesis. She should have waited for Lockdown after that botched job on Luna 2. She should have waited, savored, her last interrogation among the decepticon ranks.

But she had learned her lesson on patience.

The universe was giving her a message. Since it wasn't entirely unappealing, Airachnid would listen to it.

She would savor every moment now. The next opportunities she ran across would be slow and properly excruciating for all parties involved. No more of this speed and wasted chances.

Well. No more of _time_'s speed. She wouldn't say no to having some extra for herself.

That red energon those humans had found seemed rather tempting after all.

And how could she say no to the misery Tox-En brought about?

All she needed was a way to get it from the humans. But somehow, sending more insecticons to do the job seemed like a good way to get those drones turned against her like the corpse outside.

So some other bots needed to do her dirty work.

Airachnid smirked.

Wasn't _that_ **delightful**?

Watching her enemies go through the emotional anguish of doing something for her? She just needed leverage.

The insecticon queen on Earth moved to her scrapyard monitors.

Leverage would have to be different depending on which group of enemies happened to get the red and toxic energon first.

The cons would cave to something of great value to them out of greed. The bots would do anything to keep one of their own safe.

One's like Arcee would chew themselves up inside having to cave to Airachnid's demands in the hopes of keeping another person she cared for safe (this time).

Silly little caring bots. Airachnid loved them. They were so much easier to hurt.

One monitor pulled up the image of the location of the first piece of leverage. Another flickered into life to show the second location.

A human house on one screen. The _Harbinger_ on the other.

Oh yes. She'd have a bargaining chip no matter who won this scuffle.

* * *

Commander Kurtzman was currently rather pleased with the progress M.E.C.H. had been making.

They had successfully replicated the two atypical fuel sources. Energon, as the mech Starscream had called it during their short lived alliance. The fuel had to be treated with the utmost care; even the blue version, the least volatile of the three, was dangerous to exposed humans. Luckily, M.E.C.H. was quite innovative.

The energon was a good enough find on its own. But the drones were providing just as much success.

In the wake of Bishop's death, M.E.C.H. had doubled down on their efforts. Project Chimera had evolved into three prongs, just as the legendary creature was created of three beings put together.

Of course, fate had no interest in their victory coming easily.

If the alarms ringing for the Sinaloa Shipping Grounds was any evidence of that, at least.

He rushed to the nearest viewing platform.

It was one of the aliens.

And judging by how it flew in rather than drove, he was willing to place a bet on which warring faction this one fought for.

* * *

_-An hour after the debriefing-_

It didn't take him long to notice her.

Wheeljack paused on the dirt and looked behind him at the tiny figure.

"What are you doin'?" he sighed. Miko crossed her arms and tapped one of her feet quickly against the road.

"Going with you. What's it look like?"

The wrecker wasn't much impressed looking at her impatience. Miko didn't care.

"What do you think I'm goin' to go do?" he asked.

"Does it matter?" she replied, "You could be after the con who burned the whole in Bulkhead's face. You could be going after the humans that tried to mess with him. You could just be going to punch the nearest trees away. Like I said; does it matter? I want in."

Maybe if he had actually been planning on disappearing to do something dangerous, he would've said no.

As it was, Wheeljack folded down into his vehicle mode and the passenger door opened for her.

"Have it your way, kid."

They spun around the dirt paved circuit repetitively. The familiar motion was mindless.

Both of them wanted to be as mindless as they could. Thinking just meant, well...thinking. A million trains of thought involving worry and anger and guilt and helplessness and revenge _revenge_-

Clear the head, they said. Clear it.

Miko didn't have an imagination that could be put on hold. Wheeljack said little and thought far more.

The circuit didn't help.

She itched in her seat.

Nothing would help.

"Hey." Wheeljack spoke through the dashboard speakers and she glanced over her pulled up knees at where his voice had emanated from. "Your body heat just keeps risin'. That mean you're stressed?"

Miko huffed into her knees.

"Keep your scans to yourself," she shot back.

A moment later and: "Yes. Aren't you?"

This time it was Wheeljack who snorted.

"'course I am. And I know what you want too."

She had counted on it.

"Are you in, then?" she asked.

The wrecker turned to drive the circuit again. Dust blew up over the windshield and the windows on both sides. He didn't want to answer, judging by how he sped up rather than speaking up.

Then he sighed, like he had when she had caught him storming out of the base.

"I get it. Trust me, I do; I'm his partner too. I want payback, just like you. But we can' go on a revenge trip right now. We don' even know the name of the con who put the hole in Bulk's head."

The wind eased out of Miko's sails.

"So?" she tried instead. "Why should that stop us?"

"'cause Bulk would never forgive me if I drove off with you to do something slagin' stupid," he answered.

She felt dismissed. Belittled.

It made her feel worse. Wheeljack was supposed to be helping.

Instead, he was brushing her off.

The wrecker seemed to read such thoughts. He skidded to a slower speed; the outdoor noise cut down to unnoticeable.

"Kid. You know 'bout Bulk and Breakdown's...rivalry? It goes way back. A couple hundred of your lifespans back. You just see them sitting around base together and don't realize anything."

Oh, that _really_ made her feel brushed off-

"You used to seein' him 'round yet?"

...maybe.

"Seems like you are. All of you seem adjusted. It's not brought up just how bad that guy hurt Bulk. He's hurt him so many times. We've wanted revenge for a good long while."

The defensive anger loosened up. Miko unconsciously let her head come up from where her legs were.

"But when he showed up to live here?" Wheeljack gave a short laugh. "Bulk knew he couldn' get his payback. He had to play it smart. There was a war at stake. You get my drift yet?"

They had puttered to a stop near the entrance to the base. Miko hardly noticed their location.

"Sometimes you don' get to fight back," the wrecker muttered.

Both went quiet. Then, the door on her side opened again.

"Cooled off yet?" he asked sardonically. "I gotta go do my own coping now."

With a grumble, the teen slid out of the sports car and trudged back towards the base.

In the entrance hall, she found a waiting group.

Raf was frowning, like he was worried she'd be snapping at him. Or maybe he was worried for her.

A little behind him, Jack looked as neutral as could be.

Oh, fantastic. Time to be patronized and appeased.

"What are you doing?" she parroted the wrecker who'd kicked her out moments before. Jack and Raf shared a glance.

"We," the younger boy looked back at her. "We were worried about you."

Cute.

Actually, it kinda was. Miko let his evident care soften a bit of her frustration.

Just a bit. She couldn't be too generous.

"What for?" Her eyes rolled. "I'm fine. All of us are fine. Didn't you hear Ratchet? No one's dying anytime soon."

The old rustbucket had better be right.

She'd already felt the spike of alarm and terror seeing Bulkhead escorted in with a servo over his face. From the ground, feeling startlingly short, she caught a glimpse at the darkness behind it when one of his supporters jostled his servos away. It wasn't supposed to be so dark. So void of green, and soft blue stare, and - and-

"You seem irrational," Jack stepped forward. "We just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid."

"Like what?" she laughed. "Like chase the con nobody who did this? Like burning the creepers at M.E.C.H. down? Oh, the thought never occurred to me."

They shared that glance again. While they were looking at each other, she rolled her eyes again.

"So...are you coming back in with us?" Raf asked cautiously.

"Don't feel like it right now," the girl turned her head away.

"Are you going back to your house then?" Jack asked next.

"Don't feel like that either. Doesn't matter, does it?" she glared with one eye behind the dark bangs her pout had knocked over.

"Um." The youngest teen looked between Jack and Miko nervously. "So are you planning on doing any of those...unwise things?"

Not like she had a choice. Wheeljack was busy doing his own thing and who else was she supposed to go to? Maybe Knock Out, he seemed willing enough to do dumb things. But she didn't feel like running out with Doc Knock and not Bulkhead or his bestie.

"You guys know me," Miko frowned and said instead of anything else, "What do you think?"

She tossed her ponytail behind her and stormed off.

Raf was the first to break the pause, with a worried little: "I think she's going to do something rash."

That made Jack snort.

"She's Miko," he contested, "She's always doing something rash."

* * *

The new bot was flashy, small and a complete unknown.

Well, for everybody else.

Knock Out recognized him right off.

The shiny silver paint? The little winglets? Those optics a darker shade of blue than any of the others had?

He'd been wondering when Smokescreen would show up.

The rookie apparently had been hiding. '_Apparently_' was the correct word because when the autobots arrived, it was to be swarmed by vehicon troopers. Optimus took point steadily; his weapons shot through the armor of approaching decepticons. Arcee hopped around the field, slicing opponents and speeding away before getting leapt on. The other scout ran around less but shot more; Bumblebee continued to focus his efforts on the left flank, undistracted by anyone else's fight. Near the back, Bulkhead shot (rather erratically; it seemed his depth perception hadn't quite adjusted to the new optic) and Wheeljack cut through enemies that strayed too close to his wrecker friend.

The red medic himself was near the front. Since he really didn't have a long range option, he fought with his staff and Breakdown roared as he tossed opponents away. Without as much fervor as he should've had, but Knock Out wasn't going to complain about his partner continuing to pull his punches when fighting vehicons.

The only autobot absent, besides the rookie they were after, was Ratchet. The cranky medic was manning the groundbridge, even though Optimus had briefly considered bringing him in case the inhabitant of the pod was injured. That idea was a bit groundless when another younger, more combat capable medic and his assistant nurse were already going to be on scene.

Speaking of Ratchet...

_«Optimus? We've got a-»_

Really? In the middle of a battle?

Knock Out leaned behind a nearby boulder and felt it rock against the shots of the cons.

"Bit busy!" Arcee yelled through the comms and Ratchet didn't continue his message.

The boulder shook and Knock Out yelped when a red laser bolt tore through the rock near his arm.

Anytime now!

As if summoned by the sounds of internal frustration and the promise of glory, the new bot charged through the woods.

"Down in front!" the kid yelled as he shot, before leaping over both bot scouts and onto an unsuspecting vehicon.

The rest of them stalled while Smokescreen took point. They just...weren't expecting this, that's all.

Well, Knock Out wasn't expecting the situation to go quite like this. Although he did remember Smokescreen bragging a bit about how he had...

Wait.

The medic cast a glance at the snaking blue pouring through one of the ridges in the dirt. It was a stream of energon, like one more commonly seen on Cybertron itself, leaking thickly from the busted pod.

Scrap.

He ducked back down into cover before any of the others did. They waited until they'd seen the rookie actually shoot the spilled energon before yelling the order to retreat.

One moment and explosion later, and the beautiful cybertronian creek was gone.

Although there was a beautiful appeal to the white-blue flames flickering over the remains of tree trunks and ground.

The bots, Knock Out included, moved out of cover to see the newbee standing over the fires.

For a moment, the silver mech just looked down at the destruction his wild shot had wreaked.

A moment later and he was calling out to the world "Woo! Too hot for you cons?"

Oh dear. He was going to have competition in the Prima Dona category now, wasn't he?

* * *

There wasn't time for another emergency.

But Ratchet was used to this. Often times, peace came in lulls. Once the peace was broken, emergencies tacked on top of each other.

Even still, he did not think he nor the absent team had time for this.

"Agent Fowler, I really cannot bring them back!" he said to the human even as he kept close watch on the vitals of his team. All seven of them were in the field right now.

...at what point did this war grow bad enough that seven teammates felt like an incredibly large army?

"Did you tell them why I'm here?" the human pulled at his own suit jacket impatiently.

Ratchet failed to resist rolling his optics.

"I would have," he drew out, "but they were in the middle of a combat zone!"

"So is the hotspot in Sinaloa!" Fowler retorted. Nearby, the humans moved their heads together to talk 'inconspicuously'.

"But-" Jack was the first to interrupt. The oldest teen took a few steps forward confidently.

When Jack moved confidently, it tended to mean he was completely sold on whatever thought he had.

Ratchet braced himself.

"If it's a combat between M.E.C.H. and the cons, can't we let them tear each other apart?" the teen finished. Miko threw a set of 'thumbs ups' into the air.

"Yeah!" she added, "Let those bastards toast each other!"

Rafael looked scandalized at her side. Ratchet made a note to himself to give the girl a talking to; she'd gotten a bit more problematic than usual since Bulkhead's injury (and, since her base sanity was _Miko_, that was saying something worrisome).

The medic turned away from the children to look at the human agent. Fowler was frowning.

"While it does seem that the humans caught on camera are wearing the apparel of M.E.C.H. and it is undoubtedly Dreadwing seen strafing above them," Ratchet allowed, "-why does your human government not just move in?"

Perhaps he should have paid more attention to human government. But caving on anatomy after Rafael's injury had been enough. No need to research their politics or anything.

"Because Silanoa is in Mexico," Fowler shot back immediately. "It's not in Uncle Sam's territory or jurisdiction."

But M.E.C.H. didn't care about borders. While Nemesis Prime had been stationed (and presumably built) in Washington state, the group itself had been found in the midwest of the US, Russia, recently Nicaragua, and now this Silanoa place.

Ratchet couldn't allow the widespread presence of those butchers affect him.

Even if his instinct was to recoil in disgust and even fear the miniscule aliens apparent untraceability worldwide.

"So what are you presuming I do?" he finally asked in defeat.

The frown turned up into a brief smile.

"The team may be busy. The boys in green may not have permission to go. But I'm an international agent, so long as I am the autobot liason on Earth." Fowler pointed at himself with his thumb. "Besides that loose canon flying around out there, this is mainly a human element again. So?"

The medic groaned and buried his head in his servo.

"No." His protest, of course, did not prevent the next words from coming.

"Send me in."

Send him to deal with the current decepticon 2IC on his own? Him, with no protective shell, trying to deal with a dangerous seeker and a group of radical human butchers?

What would be next? Send the kids to go face off against Soundwave?

...wait.

He'd done that already in Texas.

Ratchet sighed and reached for the groundbridge controls.

* * *

"Except that it wasn't your plan!" Arcee jabbed a pointed finger at the rookie's chestplate. "It was a random shot that almost got us friend to a crisp."

Smokescreen waited a beat before shrugging. "Worked out, didn't it?"

Couldn't argue with that logic.

Optimus stepped closer to Smokescreen and, as was natural for him, made the others go silent in attention.

"Thank you, fellow autobot. Your..." there was just the slightest of pauses before the Prime chose a word "-valor is to be commended."

"I-"

The small mech took a step back and his optics went wide as they ran up and down the imposing bot's form. "I don't believe it! You're Optimus Prime!" He looked at the rest of them and pointed at Optimus excitedly. "He's Optimus Prime!"

Was this what hero worship looked like on other bots?

Psh, it was a bit ridiculous to see. Of course, _Knock Out_ wasn't _anything_ like that when he was talking with (or about) Prime.

He certainly hoped he wasn't at least.

"We know," Arcee deadpanned.

"_Yup_," Bumblebee added simply. Breakdown groaned from behind Knock Out and the medic just smirked.

Optimus interrupted them again. "What is your name, soldier?" he asked gently. The rookie shot back up to ramrod straight attention.

"Smokescreen, sir!"

Without so much as a stall, Optimus had put a servo out.

"Welcome to Earth, Smokescreen."

The servo was stared at like it came from one of the Thirteen themselves. Smokescreen had an expression of severe disbelief.

_In my view, you have each acted as a Prime_

Well, Knock Out supposed the rookie could have this one. It really was mind-blowing when a Prime offered such casual things like-like a servo to shake or words of what had to be hyperbole.

Then Smokescreen broke from his stupor and grabbed the offered servo with both of his own.

"It's an honor to be here," he swore, "E-especially with you."

The brand on his chest itched. Knock Out noticed absently that he was poking at it with a finger and stopped the action without looking away from the scene in front of him.

An honor to be here.

He looked at the Prime, who wore the tiniest of smiles.

_In my view-_

_I am glad you and your partner have decided to join our cause_

The approval and recognition of a Prime, or at least this particular Prime, was enough to inspire all kinds of loyalty in all kinds of bots.

Smokescreen wasn't all that wrong, even if he did act ridiculous about it all.

It _was_ an honor to be here.

Especially because this team and its leader.

* * *

This facility did not contain the captives.

Dreadwing had become certain of that.

There were warehouses of supplies, yes. He'd torn their roofs away and found storages of energon; and its variants.

He'd fought the desecrated abominations XL-2M99 had warned of.

But there was nothing here to suggest that these abominations were being made here, at this facility. It was too small. Too much of it was storage. Weapons, energons, truckloads. All could be of good use to Lord Megatron, although Dreadwing would rather burn it all where it lay. Such plunder was dishonored; it would stain his servos to bring it back.

He was here to retrieve the living, not the lifeless.

And he would do it.

Even if it meant only bringing their bodies back for proper burial. Dreadwing hoped it would not be so.

It was too late for many. For him: Skyquake was dead. For many living vehicons: those that were hoping for the return of those friends the humans paraded around as puppets now.

But it had not been proven to be too late for the list he had downloaded. The missing that had not yet been confirmed deceased.

So if this facility was useless?

Dreadwing tore the wall off the largest building. This was no warehouse. It was a tower.

The machine gun strewed fire and ripped asphalt up as he shot at the base of the building. The heat stained the lower walls even as he moved the gun to one servo to look closer through the opening.

One of these faceless humans was backing up.

His optics narrowed onto the metallic vest of this enemy, the almost decorated chest of his armor- Dreadwing recognized authority whatever race was wearing it.

The seeker growled and slammed a fist through the right side wall. The human backpedalled, but tore a gun of his own off his leg holster. The weapon pointed up at Dreadwing and he thought he saw the purple of vehicon plating on its twisted design. The same fist that had leveled the wall flicked the puny gun away and saw with satisfaction that the human grabbed at his own wrists with a shriek. Good. Let the foolish endoskeleton break. Soon, Dreadwing would burn this one to ash like the rest.

But only after finding out where the missing decepticons were.

_"You. Human."_ His gold faceplate moved up so that he loomed over the roofless room. Surprisingly, the fleshy didn't stumble back from his sudden size.

"Where are you keeping them?" he hissed.

The human said nothing.

"Who are you?" the seeker pressed. "And where are you keeping my brethren?"

No reply.

"I will crush you, bug!" Dreadwing roared. "But I may not if you are important enough. If you lead me to the others. Do you know? Are you important enough? Vital enough that your associatives will crumble without you?"

The faceless agent remained silent. It infuriated him. Dreadwing growled and made to shove the the desecrator aside the same way he had dealt with that wall.

"Who are you?" he shouted a final time while the fleshy moved its head between staring up at the hostile seeker to the deathly drop beyond.

Dreadwing would not stand for the alien to kill itself before either telling him the truth or being crushed underpede.

But he was interrupted before either option could occur.

"That-"

The voice came from what remained of the doorway and preceded the entrance of another human. This one stood with one of the twisted replica's of cybertronian weaponry in his ash covered servos and had its barrel pointed squarely at his chest.

"Is M.E.C.H. And you-" the human pointed his chin up to gesture at him; Dreadwing sensed no fear in the movement. "-are gonna take a big step back."

The seeker sneered.

"So that you can rescue your comrade here and make into the night?"

The human grunted at that. The gun didn't dip away from pointing at him.

"No. So that I can take these madmen down without you getting in my way."


	26. Honor, Duty, Family

Airachnid springs into motion. Both warring factions still don't know where exactly M.E.C.H. is building their new puppets.

_AN- Ok, I want to leave a note here about my updating/editing schedule over here on FFN. I post chapters first on AO3 and later come post them over here. As of this update, I have 36 chapters posted on AO3 and I post on an almost daily basis. Here, I've taken to updating in clumps of chapters. It takes me about a week to reread and actually notice the grammar/spelling/confusion errors so while the gaps between updates are bigger on FFN, I have been trying with the last few chapters to make sure the mistakes are caught on AO3 before I ever put them on this site. You guys have to wait longer, but hopefully aren't face with AS many annoying English errors._

_All that said, on with the show~_

* * *

_Look, soldier._

They'd talked even after Knock Out had grabbed the Tox-En away from Bulkhead and tried to carry the weight of the team for a while. Even though the toxin had been passed on to another, Bulkhead had still been struggling to get up the hill.

But both he and Fowler knew he couldn't stop to rest. That resting would just mean never rising again.

_You know as well as I do there is the mission. And the reason why you take the mission._

Did it really matter if they were technically both members of alien species to each other?

The emotions of cybertronians seemed identical to humans. He may not have recognized it the first few years, but after Starscream's interrogation and the kids very human presence, Fowler had started to figure that out.

And since the emotions were the same, the motivations seemed to be too.

_Honor! Duty! Family!_

Especially family. Even if his parents had passed years before and his one sibling had fallen out of contact due to bad blood long before even that. Even if his ex only talked with him to get more alimony and he was reminded of how badly he had messed up in that relationship whenever he saw the kids (whenever their presence reminded him of the kids he never had and the father he never got to be).

Family didn't have to mean he shared someone's genes though. No more than it meant Bulkhead would have to share DN-, er, CNA with Miko to be considered family.

Well, Fowler had his own now. It had taken divorce, a bit of mandatory chaplaincy therapy after a particularly bad assignment, early retirement, frustration with botsitting, an unpleasant interrogation by an unpleasant alien, and a couple very impressive children- but now he had it.

And what had he told Bulkhead when running the communication hub for that job?

_there is the mission. And the reason why you take the mission_

_Honor. Duty. Family._

So when he looked up at the angry gold face of one of the cons that had stolen his VTOL schematics, he remembered those reasons. When he had volunteered to head through one of those disgusting, disorienting groundbridge, it had been with those reasons in mind.

Sometimes he thought that he felt the most worried over M.E.C.H. out of all of them. The organization posed a threat to the U.S. and Fowler was nothing if not patriotic. They also posed a threat to _his family._ Silas, after all, had proved more than willing to kidnap a teenager and his mother. Even without Silas, it seemed unlikely that M.E.C.H. had somehow grown some moral compass. And they posed a separate kind of threat. An unnerving, unexplainable one.

Fowler realized it when he had ran through the chaos currently being spread by the one singular con stomping around and stumbled across the first weapon stache. The outfitted, human sized guns were laying in a shipping crate on the first floor of the currently undamaged tower.

Well, he was human sized.

...and so were a whole lot of other people who would be willing to use this kind of stuff against the autobots.

His bosses, for instance, would love to get a hold of this stuff. It would send them years ahead in terms of technological advancements. Fowler was a man of _honor_ and had a _duty_ to his country. It was in their best interests to immediately send this crate, and all those left undamaged by Dreadwing, to the engineers of the military. Years ago, he himself would have been thrilled to hear that those engineers were going to be outfitting their soldiers (as in, him) with super-technology. Absolutely thrilled.

That part of him still grinned like an enthused child when he picked one of the purple rifles up and tried out its size.

But he was a liason to the autobots. He was also supposed to act in their best interests.

And he had a hard time believing they'd be as secure if the government knew they could shoot them full of toxins and take what technology Ratchet had not yet offered by force.

These thoughts made him unhappy.

So by the time the tower had started shaking and he had reached the room where a M.E.C.H. agent and decepticon were facing off, Fowler was feeling impatient and conflicted. The rifle in his hands pointed squarely up at the frowning con while the agent tried to shuffle away from view.

No dice, pal.

Fowler broke the face off with Dreadwing to slug the M.E.C.H. agent in the head. Unlike Silas, who had easily defeated him in hand to hand combat, this guy dropped easily. Without wasting time, Fowler pulled the cloth mask up to see the bruised glare beneath.

Did he have hi-

In his suit jacket. It would do. Fowler pulled his phone out and took a photo of the disoriented man. They'd need to run his image up against the database of hired and retired military and government employees.

The M.E.C.H. agent seemed to catch on, even if what was likely a concussion kept him disoriented, and started to push up to his feet. While Fowler fumbled to slide his phone away and bring his borrowed gun back up, the man stumbled towards what remained of the door.

Dreadwing's hand interrupted such a thought. The impact reminded Fowler that the con was still here and he brought the rifle up to spot at that large blue chest again.

"Where-" the con hissed with a tone more hostility, "-Are. My. Brethren?"

Wasn't that that thousand dollar question?

"Good question," Fowler grabbed the M.E.C.H. agent's shoulder and spun him around. "What of it, bub? Got a location for me?"

The agent sneered.

Well, worth a shot.

Where were Prime and his guys? Fowler could really use an assist.

With a noise of frustration, the con shoved off from the tower. For all he knew, the loose canon would just torch the building to the ground.

Since he was currently in said building, Fowler was not attracted to that idea. One hand still held the disoriented agent still while the other braced the gun against his leg in order to pull his phone out once more.

"Hey Ratchet?" he called. "Think Prime could bring in the calvary anytime soon?"

The medic did not immediately respond. Then his voice crackled to life. _«I am bridging them back now and will send them your way. Be advised, there will be an new face with them.»_

There was no added exposition. Fowler guessed it didn't matter.

The con was storming back. The ground shook under each angry step. The gold face was curled in murder and getting closer and closer. That was not a pleasant image to sear into his mind.

"My patience is expired," Dreadwing growled and lifted his fist above both humans.

Fowler dropped the phone and agent at once to fumble with the alien gun. No way was he gonna stand still and let the blue and white of his star spangled shorts stain red. He pulled what seemed like the trigger and watched a green shard blast inconspicuously into the con's shoulder.

At the same moment as Dreadwing reared back to feel at the shard, the sound of reality tearing came to Fowler's ears.

Groundbridges had never been so wonderful to hear. He slumped in relief.

And that was all the concussed M.E.C.H. agent needed to pull away from his side and stumble for the edge where Dreadwing had ripped the wall away.

* * *

So the victors were decided, were they?

Not even the most stupidly dutiful decepticon would stay after the entire autobot team arrived.

Victors, lovely wonderful victors. All those stores of Tox-En and red energon right at their servos.

At the moment.

She smiled in the dark of her room.

But it would be in hers soon enough.

Airachnid called an insecticon away from its job digging for energon and redirected towards a human suburb.

* * *

"Ratchet!" Raf called.

The medic came to stand head level with the catwalk only seconds after he had spoken. Ratchet always came quickly when he would call.

It was nice. Having someone who listened for his voice and cared enough to come instead of yell 'just a minute' all the time, well. It wasn't exactly a common occurrence at his house with all the occupants living there.

Bee always listened.

And Ratchet, though he may still contest it on occasion, did too.

"Yes?" the cybertronian asked when he was standing near where the human boy sat with legs dangling over the edge.

"I think I have an idea about our M.E.C.H. situation!" he said and the excitement he felt leaked through.

Judging by the expression flashing over Ratchet's face, the excitement was shared.

But then again, it wasn't all that surprising; Ratchet seemed to especially detest that group of enemies.

Something made Raf think it was over Bee's lost T-Cog. The loss had been hard enough on the scout; but for Ratchet it seemed to bring up buried guilt and helplessness.

It wasn't exactly a secret that he had been that 'field medic' that he'd said 'could've done better'.

Even if Ratchet himself never discussed it unless he was behind the shield of a third person anonymous field medic guise.

Sometimes, Raf still felt random pangs of guilt over how disappointed he'd been when it had been Ratchet that picked him up that school day. How he'd looked out the window instead of at the dash. How he'd turned down the chance to have the siren on while they drove because that had seemed like uninteresting childishness.

How often would he get to ride in an ambulance with a siren running?

How often would he get to ride with Ratchet himself?

The truth was, not often. That time was a commodity. It hadn't occurred again after Bee had got his T-Cog back.

Sometimes, Raf remembered the middle school he'd only been at for three months.

The high school he'd be out of in a good two years.

The grade school that he couldn't remember any of the other kids from. They had names, but they were just...inmemorable blurs. Raf remembered the electric remote control truck he'd had in third grade. The little stretch of land behind the school where he'd drive them or run with a toy plane in hand and fitting noises running from his mouth.

None of the kids, though. None of the people.

Raf didn't regret rushing through school. He wanted to be intellectually challenged. It made him feel energetic, happy.

And he didn't regret how much time he spent with the electronics that seemed better company than some rude kids.

But he did regret the opportunities he'd brushed aside.

Maybe sometime, he'd ride Code 3 with Ratchet. And maybe it wouldn't feel all that thrilling, but it would be time well spent with someone he loved.

In the meantime?

Well, there wasn't time to waste on regrets when he was on the brink of something useful.

"The team is at one of their bases in Mexico, right?" the boy started.

Ratchet tried to preempt whatever came next. "Yes, and Dreadwing destroyed most of it."

Not quite true. Raf had been listening to the comms and watching the screens. The seeker hadn't actually tried to destroy any of the stores of Tox-En, even if he had torn apart every twisted vehicon and insecticon puppet.

A part of Raf felt disappointed with that. He'd have liked to see just how M.E.C.H. was doing it.

"But how much got salvaged?" he asked.

The medic glanced towards the groundbridge hall, dark and unused at the moment. The team was still out.

"A few warehouses. Those that Breakdown, in all his infinite wisdom, hasn't smashed."

That sounded familiar to what the blue mech had done at the M.E.C.H. base in Oregon.

"Well, I was thinking that I could go look at any of their remaining computers-" Raf said. "And maybe I could try to trace their Chimera operation back to its starting origins!"

And then Ratchet smiled widely.

It was a hopeful statement, after all.

All of them wanted to get rid of this new Chimera project M.E.C.H. had been running.

"I will speak with Optimus and agent Fowler about the state of M.E.C.H.'s technology at this base. How long do you think it will take you?" Ratchet asked.

All things considered?

"A week?" Raf bit his lip. "Maybe more?"

As non-immediate as that was, they both knew the truth:

"It will be valuable, no matter when you do find it."

* * *

First he visited the medbay.

The human weapon had left a shard of toxic energon embedded in his plating. Frontal chest plating, so it had barely seeped into any internal energon streams.

Afterwards, he had stayed behind a little longer to mutter what progress he'd made that cycle to the vehicon cleaning the berth table.

This time, Soundwave read no hostility in either of their body language.

It did not surprise the communications officer when the seeker visited him next.

The bridge was empty of officers; only high ranking vehicons stood at their stations. Lord Megatron was currently training. He had been doing too much of that lately.

But Soundwave didn't think he had any place to make that opinion known; not until he had brushed away his recent failures. The retrieval of the resonance blaster could not unmar each spot left behind by the failure to predict the betrayal of the _Nemesis_'s former medic team.

"Soundwave." Dreadwing waited to say his name until he had stepped right behind him. The spymaster inclined his head back to signal he was listening.

It was but a gesture.

He was _always_ listening, after all.

"I have been undertaking a side mission lately," the seeker said.

Soundwave knew this.

And Lord Megatron did as well; he learned almost everything Soundwave did.

The human term had been adopted-

Eyes and ears.

Perfect equitable loyal teamwork.

And then Soundwave had somehow slipped and that teamwork had fallen into dissatisfaction. Neither had said it yet. But he knew Lord Megatron thought it.

"This human organization. M.E.C.H. They've been stealing loyal decepticons away from our mines." Dreadwing began to pace. "They desecrate their still living remains and turn them against us. I must know how they are doing it. I must know _where_ they are doing it from."

If Soundwave knew, he would have given that information already.

The lanky mech shifted to the side so that the screen at his station was better visible to the seeker. One long finger rose and pointed at the Iacon Database.

"Of course," the other inclined his head, "I understand you are busy."

The communication's officer tilted his own head to one side almost imperceptibly.

"_-must-know-where-_" Dreadwing's own voice, distorted back the vaguest hints of Soundwave's own unheard vocal patterns, echoed back at the seeker.

The other officer kept careful control over his own expressions. One fist tapped his chestplate.

"Then you will search for me?" he asked.

Soundwave jabbed the still extended finger forward at the database.

_Decoding the Iacon Database must remain your top priority._

What Lord Megatron decided was law.

That aside, Soundwave could still work for his 2IC in what free time he had.

* * *

Her evening shift had finished and June had noticed the moment she opened her garage door that Arcee was missing. And if Arcee wasn't here, Jack probably wouldn't be either.

One quick call to confirm her suspicion and a frustrated sigh later, and June was back in her car driving. That teen of hers, always off trying to save the world when it was time to sleep...

Any such concerns really didn't seem to matter anymore.

Not after her car was tugged off the ground by something that her headlights hadn't gotten a good look at. It screeched and that was about as distinguished a noise as June could get from it.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind this had something to do with the autobots. And when it was something involving aliens, June knew she had to make a call. She alone couldn't exactly help herself in this scenario, while her car tossed her from seat to seat.

Getting her phone was easier said than done. Her water cup had been tossed out of its cupholder and poured up against her left arm while she was trying to pull herself up from the floor by the passenger's seat. The coin compartment jerked open next and the nurse threw her hands above her head while they fell down all over the place (including her).

If this hadn't been terrifying, she'd have found time to be annoyed.

Every time she had almost pulled herself together, the thing holding the car would list to the side and toss her. June felt her head hit the door and knew with unhappy clarity that it had left a mark. Perhaps even a concussion.

The thing in the air screeched again. She heard it ringing in her ears long after whatever it was stopped. Though the interior car lights were only, June's vision was blurry.

It had taken too long to recover. By the time she had renewed her mission to reach her phone, they were dropping in elevation. It was like one of those dangerously unstable fair rides that dropped oblivious tourists straight down. The vertigo made her stomach and head spin alike. June never had been one for fair rides.

Or heights, for that matter. Not that being abducted by an alien and cocooned in a web hanging high in the air had helped with that.

One of the lights broke when the vehicle hit the ground again. Its glass fell and slid into corners and nooks June would have to vacuum later. It wasn't important. She crawled to where her phone had dropped by the pedals of her car and picked it up shakily. Outside the windshield, red v-shapes were alight in the darkness. Like something straight out of a nightmare. The nurse pulled into the backseat, as far away from those red glares, and flipped her phone open.

Password. Password first and then- get help. Where was she? She didn't know. She didn't know how long she'd lain still in a stupor. But surely the others could find her, once they found out she was in trouble-

The little screen lit up. June started to press the password in and then the roof tore away.

Two thin, black fingers reached down and slid over both sides of the flip phone. The device she was hoping would rescue her lifted up into the air and June's eyes followed it. Up, up, over darkness until the little blue screen became face to face with another ambient light.

The purple optics moved away from the blue screen after a moment and the device was thrown away over the femme's shoulder. Then, while June started to crawl back into the front of the car instinctually, the alien had finished crouching near. The working car lights were bright enough in whatever dark cave they seemed to be in; they illuminated Airachnid well enough. The curved smile. The approaching ha-servo. That purple stare that had once been only feet away while the femme asked which type of pain Jack would chose for June to die in.

She still woke up in the night from nightmares remembering that moment.

Since telling a therapist about the incident would likely end in her getting a schizophrenia diagnosis, June's only planned method of healing was simply never having to see the spider again.

But Airachnid was here. Pulling June up away from the car with deceptive gentleness. Ignoring how the nurse fought the hold as she was carried away.

All the while, her heart tried to pound its way straight out of her chest. Despite the cold air, her skin had coated with a sheen of sweat.

Finally, Airachnid set her down on some sort of ledge and June immediately backstepped until she hit the wall. One hand reached out and felt behind her. Bumpy, ridged. Geological. This was rock, not a man made wall.

The cybertronian leaned both arms on the ledge until her face had come far too close for comfort.

"Oh-" she tapped the metal by her lips in faux absentness, "You're Jack's mother, right? How odd running into you again."

Even the coy voice made June feel ill.

But now wasn't a time to let that fear get the best of her.

"W-what do y-you want?" the human shot back with as much volume as she could muster. Her hands were clutching her arms and only a part of that was due to the cold, still air.

Airachnid's smile grew. The dentae beneath revealed themselves. Two points sharpened like Earth's mythical vampires. Green coating glowing behind the dentae line.

"Why, _June_!" the femme laughed, leaning back as she did so. "You sound so _unhappy_. Don't be like that. At least, not before we start having fun in earnest."

A half dozen cuss words ran through June's brain while it panicked.

This was revenge then. No, no, no-

"The autobots will kill you if you try!" she bluffed loudly.

That smile grew somehow larger. June wished it would stop extending.

"The autobots want to kill me regardless," Airachnid shrugged off, "Something to do with a few genocides or so. Doesn't matter."

The femme leaned close again.

"But that's water under the bridge now, honey," she 'soothed'.

June pushed back further into the rock wall.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Airachnid continued, letting one of her claws drift over the nurse's side.

It seemed like a startling reminder of their sizes. Airachnid could handle June like June used to handle her toy dolls.

Airachnid was handling her like that already.

"I'm not even here to hurt your friends. I want to make a deal with them! That's all," she cocked her head to one side in amusement, "Quite innocent, don't you see?"

The nurse shook her head; granted, her whole body was shaking. She scooted away from the finger.

"I don't believe you," June spat.

For a moment, Airachnid lost her smile. Then it was back, purple optics crinkled to slits.

"I've given you no reason not to," the insecticon purred, "Really! You're just here as my good faith measure. You won't be hurt. Can't let your friends turn on me before I show them my honest, helpful intentions. I just want to make a trade." Airachnid curled the claw behind June's back and drew her closer.

"See? Good intentions. I don't plan to hurt anybody."

The nurse thought of hanging above the air in terror. Of green acid spat near her head.

Of Arcee's grief over a partner murdered.

Of Jack's insomnia and avoidance of forests at night.

In front of her, Airachnid was still smiling smugly but her lies were obvious to the both of them.

She knew she should play it safe. Be as appealing as possible to avoid pain as long as possible.

But this sicko had gotten away with too much in her lifetime. Someday, justice had to come. And until then, the human didn't plan to play a good pet and watch her friends get hurt.

June's lip curled in disgust.

_"Bullshit."_


	27. Jumping Off Ledges

The vehicons struggle with being disregarded canon fodder- some struggle more than others.  
Breakdown takes a few steps forward and a few steps back.

_AN- First segment is a flashback._

* * *

It had taken Starscream to get him out. Starscream, acting against Megatron's orders, and autobots, being their usual soft-sparked selves.

Of course, Knock Out had gotten right to work on his poor partner. Optic- gone. A jagged cut lining down the chestplate- there, and driving the medic crazy with its unevenness.

Repairs had to be done immediately. And, as he always did, Knock Out worked reassuringly. The pain receptors, which the humans had disabled, stayed off because of the medic's decision. He said he didn't want his partner to have to feel any of the welds or discomfort. Obviously, he'd 'been through enough'.

And then the red mech had ushered him to the nurse's joint room and gently forced him to the berth so that he could 'rest'. The promise of new polish and a vial of Knock Out's additive rich contraband energon lay in the air for the cycle he would awake to.

But Breakdown didn't fall into recharge.

He hadn't wanted to recharge.

The berth made him think of being strapped down under the scalpels and drills. The empty room reminded him of how impersonal every faceless human was as they cut him open.

He had wanted to talk about anything, everything, that had happened that night. He needed to speak and listen to process it.

But Knock Out was gone.

Knock Out had not once stopped any of his repairs or comforts or pampering to _listen_.

* * *

The vehicons tended to take their energon in one of three lower level recreation rooms. Here, they could speak a little louder, act a little livelier. Every time they met familiar faces (so to speak), it let them think, for one moment, they were not...

Well. _Expendable_.

That they and their fellow expendables were able to get their glasses, tell their stories, even fall into extra recharge if that's what they needed.

From the outside, they looked identical.

Among each other, they were able to identify their friends by personal quirks or maybe an uncovered scar.

XL-2M99 stood out amongst the rest because of one simple stripe.

It wasn't even the warped scarring on his face. It was the glyph on his left shoulder. It was the stark color contrast with vehicon purple.

The glyph may have been only a quarter the size of his burn scar, but it was far more distinct.

Colors were not allowed among the vehicon troops. Not unless it was to signify a special position.

Like being a medic.

He didn't like the extra attention but it was unavoidable. Entering meant drawing optics.

Thankfully, there was one vehicon here who did not mind the extra attention. One that seemed to have insisted on filling the hole XL-8K9C's absence left.

XL-3T09 swept his arm almost the moment he walked into the room. His visor, V-shaped and overbright, was different than XL-2M99's own. He had been constructed miner class, after all. His faceplates should have been the same as every other miner.

In the course of one Earth day, that had been ripped away from him.

"You know," XL-3T09 pulled them both against one table to let another group of vehicons by and then steered them on as if the interruption had never happened. "I would _love_ to get half the looks you do."

They'd been over this before.

"Is that your reason for attaching yourself to my hip?" the medic asked dryly.

If he believed it was, he'd have stopped letting the flyer get near him.

An empty table sat near the energon dispensers. XL-3T09 let the other's arm go and both sat down.

"Listen-"

The flyer's voice had dropped down to a tone XL-2M99 classified as 'conspiratorial'.

"Some of us have actually been thinking about that. We want to star-"

Whatever he planned to say cut off at the sound of the door opening.

All the vehicon talk in the recreation room cut off, in fact.

There was no reason to look too lively in front of a commanding officer (they could start getting ideas about vehicons rebelling against their purpose as mindless drones). And silhouetting the doorway stood the second in command of the _Nemesis_.

They waited as one for the commander to speak. To tell them what mission was here now.

Dreadwing took a few uncertain steps in and still did not order a squadron to him.

Seemingly noticing the abnormal quiet, the seeker waved one large arm.

"Carry on," he ordered simply.

Somehow, XL-2M99 knew that it was him that the commander was heading to.

Under the table, XL-3T09 tapped his pede with his own. The flyer leaned in over the table to whisper without Dreadwing or any other hearing.

"You've got a fan," he teased. XL-2M99 felt that the socially accepted response would be to slap him. He didn't.

No matter if it was a tease or not, XL-3T09 was right. Dreadwing crossed the room and took a seat. The environment of the recreation center returned to a low, stilted energy. The officer did not seem to realize this faux, tamed speaking was unnatural for those taking their energon here. In truth, the only officer who would be able to notice that had been Breakdown; simply because, over time, the vehicons had stopped going politely subdued when he would arrive to socialize.

It was XL-3T09 who spoke first; he turned in his seat and spread both arms wide.

"Commander Dreadwing! What brings you here to us?"

Lesser commanders had killed for such impertinence. XL-2M99 mirrored his friend's earlier action and kicked the flyer. He didn't need XL-3T09 to fight his battles for him! Not that facing the commander was a battle. They may still, to use the human expression, 'walk on eggshells' (eggs being an organic concept that he would forever wish he hadn't learned about) when speaking to each other, but the vitriol of days gone by was gone.

It was hard to hate the one officer actively seeking out his fellow vehicons.

"I merely wish to update the doctor about current progress in our mission."

Behind Dreadwing's field of vision, XL-3T09 made an exagerated motion used in alternative to the roll of two seperate optics. XL-2M99 felt the need to kick him again. Someday, this carefree, attention seeking attitude would get him killed.

The seeker did not notice any of this. He was a remarkably oblivious mech; not because of stupidity, but rather his focus remaining steady on one task. It was commendable- though not a good trait in a second in command. Starscream had always been a good 2IC because of how he could balance many details at once.

On the brighter side, Dreadwing respected their kind far more than Starscream or Airachnid had.

Even if he likely would only hold the position for a short time.

XL-2M99 tried to contain the pang of unwanted worry that thought brought.

As the chief medical professional (or rather, the only slightly medically knowledgeable mech on the ship) of the Nemesis, he did not like the idea of trying to repair fatal wounds. Especially not those dealt by their leader himself.

"I have asked Soundwave to trace whatever trail these humans have left," Dreadwing continued, "As it is not his first priority, I may not learn of where this M.E.C.H. is doing these desecrations, nor where they are keeping their prisoners, for multiple cycles."

XL-3T09 had gone quiet. That was odd of him.

Then the flyer piped up in a more subdued voice of surprise. "Soundwave? _The_ Soundwave? Helping find humans? Find-" he cast his glance between the two and the crowds of vehicons beyond their table. "-find the rest of us?"

As if only now noticing, Dreadwing nodded at the XL-3T09.

"It is so."

As impressive as it was to hear that the infamous spymaster was going to be helping find the monsters (and he no doubt would- that infamy came from a very real ledger), every cycle that passed made XL-2M99 believe the mission was foolish.

They couldn't still be alive.

It hurt to think it, but he had to face that truth-

He had to brace against it.

With nothing to say, the table went quiet. He would not say 'thank you' or some other planitude. In their absence, the sad excuses for lively conversation filled the silence.

"If you do not mind me asking," the officer spoke up again.

The entire room went far more still as they waited for his question.

"How did you meet him?" Dreadwing finally asked. Both XL-2M99 and XL-3T09 shared a glance. He was uneasy about the question and it seemed his flyer friend was as well.

"Your brother," the officer continued when no answer came, "XL-8K9C?"

This word Dreadwing always tossed about-

XL-2M99 could not understand it.

"He was not my brother," the medic replied flatly.

'Brother' implied a split spark connection.

No vehicon had that connection. Their fractured sparks, created by scientists that had continued to split sparks in order to animate a faceless army of protoforms, could not hold such a bond.

"...We met here. In the rec rooms. He was-he is a friendly mech. Not picky about who he spends time with. Very honest with himself and the rest of us." XL-2M99 looked away. "He's left many friends behind here. We all miss him."

With that mood killer delivered, all three went silent. Finally, Dreadwing seemed at a loss to say anything else and rose.

"When Soundwave tracks their location, rest assured I will fly there immediately. I will bring our brethren back," he swore, once again.

The cynical part of XL-2M99 wanted to pick on the sheer amount of promises Dreadwing kept making.

The rest of him was caught on the phrasing the officer had used-

_Our brethren_

Our, our, our-

Officer's did not insinuate they were on the same sentient level as vehicons. They certainly did not insinuate that vehicons were on their level. The only one to do so in XL-2M99's memory had been Breakdown; and he had been rather low ranking among the con leadership. Certainly not the 2IC.

There was no other way to take that wording.

He was reeling, even as Dreadwing stood awaiting a response and finally gave up on getting one. While the seeker was still trudging for the door, XL-2M99 forced himself back to the present. The door slid shut and a good four clicks later, the vehicons had returned to their lively selves. He couldn't help but wonder how Dreadwing would react to the true rec room environment. That was neither here nor there. XL-2M99 leaned forward and brought XL-3T09's attention back.

"What were you telling me earlier?" he asked, trying his best to bring his interest back to that former conversation.

The other perked up again.

"Oh!" XL-3T09 returned to a perkier voice, before letting it fall into that same conspiratorial tone. "Some of us were thinking. You know how you feel with that glyph on your paint? It makes you.." his voice dropped even further " -_elevated_. Like you're _one of them._ Haven't you noticed? The forged mechs are treating you no differently than they treat each other."

XL-2M99 wasn't sure he liked where this was going. He didn't like to think of himself as-as-'elevated', or anything! He was still a vehicon at spark. He didn't want to be anything else.

He didn't want their stares when he walked into the rec room- stares almost like those they offered Dreadwing or any other commander; mixed with wonder and envy.

"We've wanted that for all our lives. A chance to be seen as more than- than- canon fodder!" XL-3T09's visor had brightened with excitement. He looked overcharged. The medic found himself leaning back.

"What?" he stammered. It made the flyer laugh.

"Come on. You know you used to feel it too. And what changed it for you? That-" he stabbed a finger on the medical glyph. "So we want something too. Not a painted symbol, that'll draw all the attention from the forged. But something we can share with those we trust, use amongst each other only; keep it under wraps around the officers but hold onto in our sparks because it could make us someone rather than an unimportant piece in a matched set."

The idea did make something in his spark swell.

Not that he would need it; not when he was what he was now.

"What are you thinking?" XL-2M99 whispered back, interest piqued.

The flyer's wings hiked higher on his back at the enthused response.

"Names," he answered, "Just for us. Not some batch of numbers and letters. Nicknames, the word could be, that only some of us would know."

Maybe to an outsider, it wouldn't seem like much.

But even as the ship's medic, XL-2M99 still remembered what it was like to be just another drone.

For a flashy mech like XL-3T09, the appeal of a name had to be strong. He himself didn't feel comfortable with choosing a designation. Not yet, at least.

"That sounds...exciting," he replied.

Somehow the purple wings rose even more.

"But why did you cut off when he came in? It hardly seemed like something you needed to close off over." XL-2M99 asked.

XL-3T09 scoffed. "He's a forged mech and the 2IC of this army. One whiff of this, he'll start screaming 'rebellion' and then we'll all answer to Lord Megatron."

That did seem rather likely when it came to the forged mech's in the officer ranks of the decepticon army. The last one to not care about such things was Breakdown, and that mech had deserted their ranks.

Although- XL-2M99 thought of the amusement on Megatron's face when he had volunteered as the interim medic.

_A miner stepping out of his class. Alright then_

Still, no matter how amusing that had seemed to him, there was still no doubt that their leader would grow angry at anything that could be misconceived as a 'rebellion'.

The medic glanced at the door Dreadwing had departed through.

"He doesn't seem that bad."

* * *

After a little incident regarding a now traumatized human with road rage, Smokescreen was the latest probationary autobot. The new mech may have worn the Elite Guard brand, but he was about as green as they came.

Now, instead of making the kid read any of the tablets Knock Out'd had to pour over, the Prime had sent Smokescreen off with Jack Darby to learn human rules.

Said human teen had been panicking over his missing parent every time Breakdown had seen him that day.

But surely sending the panicked teen out with the rookie who'd already broke the whole 'robots in disguise' thing within the first day he was here could never go wrong.

Meh. Wasn't really Breakdown's problem to deal with.

The autobot base was a mess in more ways than just that, however. The senior medic was grumpier than usual. Something to do with the human nurse dropping off contact and Wheeljack deciding to go solo again because:

_"The base is really gettin' too crowded"_

(Breakdown couldn't exactly blame the wrecker; the place couldn't fit so many bots comfortably even before Smokescreen showed up)

The only problem he needed to be mulling over was regarding himself.

Breakdown was lost.

He didn't know what he was doing or who he was doing anything for. The recent resurgence of M.E.C.H. did not help him relax enough to really think about anything.

They were supposed to be dead.

He'd stomped Silas to paste. There wasn't supposed to be anymore after that.

The bad fluxes were supposed to stop.

They hadn't. They'd all returned when M.E.C.H. itself had.

Seeing the remains of their little puppet projects yesterday had not helped his mental state. Was that what they'd planned on doing to him? Breakdown wanted to shake from the idea of it, and such a reaction disgusted him.

He'd tried to destroy what he saw of M.E.C.H. there, but the others hadn't let him. Apparently, crushing Tox-En was a mistake (though so was bridging it: which was why the stuff was all still exactly where it had been yesterday, sitting under tarps in some destroyed facility).

It was stifling to be told to stop.

But there wasn't much he could do to ignore an order.

Breakdown shook the thoughts away when he heard a mech climb out of the lift. Currently, he was sitting on top of the desert plateau the bot base was built in. It was better than being in the base while Miko acted weirder than usual and Ratchet was snapping at everyone and the whole place was too crowded for comfort.

The bot that slid down by his side was comfortingly familiar.

But somehow, Breakdown didn't feel all that comforted.

"You alright up here?" the red medic asked.

Why would he ask? Why was he always being so touchy-feely these cycles? Or at least since Airachnid had almost killed him. The last time Knock Out had gotten so clingy was in the immediate aftermath of leaving the Stunticons.

"Fine," Breakdown answered shortly.

That didn't seem satisfactory.

"Are you sure?" the medic pressed. "You've seemed out of sorts since we went to deal with M.E.C.H."

"I said I'm fine."

This time, Breakdown could almost feel the disapproval radiating from the other.

"Really." Knock Out frowned. "Tell me. Stop hiding things from me."

_Hiding things?_ Really? Says the mech who hid a desire to join the enemy for who knew how long.

Breakdown didn't let any of that slip.

"Just don't like them," the big mech grunted.

_Them_ had many interpretations here.

This time, Knock Out seemed to find the correct one easily.

"M.E.C.H.?"

_Strapped down, fighting restraints that just wouldn't budge and pride so smashed but still breathing and panic rising with every new plate taken off-_

"We'll get them!" the medic reassured and slapped his shoulder lightly. "I mean, do you really think Optimus would let them get away? M.E.C.H. won't be a problem for us forever."

Glad he thought so. Breakdown grunted again.

"Humans are his precious pets," he contested.

Although...

Although Prime had sent his team out to face off against the humans in Russia just to get him, a singular decepticon, to safety.

It didn't make sense. There was probably a reason for it far more tactical than just some sappy rescue. No way Bulkhead would be up for that.

...one of these days and his curiosity was going to demand he go ask the wrecker the real reason.

It was more than L-...it was more than Megatron was going to do. And when he'd gotten back, faced the disapproval, near disappointment even, from his former master...it had made him ache inside. Failure was written in big sloppy letters all over him and Breakdown had felt the need to keep them there.

The patch was a reminder of his failure. Of the disapproval on Megatron's face at seeing him return in the state he'd been in.

It seemed that Bumblebee had carved deep with that singular conversation they'd had.

It felt shallow now. Why ruin his vision so that he always felt bad about himself?

That seemed like the sort of scrap Knock Out had said they'd left the Stunticons over.

Starscream had asked him to remember that day when it came time to pick sides.

Maybe. Maybe picking the one who had come to rescue him, no questions asked or favors demanded, really was the right choice to have made. Maybe Knock Out had considered that day when deciding to defect.

Why bother with maybes? Of course he did. He always put Breakdown's best interests in mind. Even when Breakdown himself didn't realize them yet.

"You're right," he turned and faced Knock Out. The sudden change in mood made the medic's face go blank for a moment.

"I-...well, of course I am, but what about?"

That confidence was laughably familiar. Breakdown almost did laugh. He was feeling high with relief.

Somewhere, beneath all his weirdness of the last few Earth months, Knock Out was still the same old Knock Out. What had Breakdown been thinking?

"They are going to go down," the blue mech swore, "You and I, we're going to tear them down. And you're right; the rest of this team are gonna back us up while we crush these squishies for good."

Knock Out's smile was dangerous and captivating.

"That's the spirit!"

And Breakdown, in that moment of captivation, couldn't remember why he had ever lost that spirit.


	28. Stress Makes Us Do Stupid Things

The inhabitants of the autobot base react to a message from a hated enemy. In the typical bad timing fashion they're used to, an important relic is unearthed during this stressful time.

_AN- First scene is a post-war flashback from the RID timeline._

* * *

The star saber was kept on a pedestal in the Iacon museum. Without a Prime, there was no use for it any more except for decoration.

Although, even without the powers of a Prime, it was still a big sword.

Someone didn't need to raid a tomb of one of the ancients to wield it effectively.

Bumblebee could attest to that.

Not that he did. The warrior didn't discuss the end of the war much. The people didn't like to hear it. Or so he was told.

A statue of Optimus Prime? Perfect for morale. Relics like this sword? Hung up in museums like they had occurred in a different timeline entirely. Like they were an optional part of a life so far away from that timeline that it felt disattached.

Knock Out had caught sight of younglings going into this very museum; some paying close attention to every placard and some goofing around.

Most of the placards were pretty short. A quick glance at that sitting under the star saber read simply-

_An ancient weapon of Prima. Used on planet Earth to end the war._

Didn't mention whose spark it had stabbed through to end said war. Didn't even mention who had wielded it.

He'd heard a patient only the other cycle mention that it had been Optimus who had used it to kill Megatron.

It was surreal.

The war's end wasn't even all that long ago. Perhaps three Earth years? He'd grown too accustomed to using that planet's solar cycles to measure time. It wasn't like he'd gone to it in over two of those years; but a part of him had hung onto its time measurements. Just like he'd hung onto that planet.

In the end, he hadn't needed to change so much as he had made himself. All that effort spent making himself fit into Team Prime at the end of the war seemed more apt to backfire on him these days than give him benefits.

For some reason, Knock Out hadn't adapted out of it yet.

As a 'hero', if the title only a few knew even mattered, he was able to enter the museum charge-free. So was Bumblebee. And at least the clerks were pretty likely to know how important the scout-turned-warrior was. Unlike that patient earlier. Unlike the council themselves, judging by how they were utilizing the war hero.

It wasn't all that long ago that Bumblebee was the impromptu leader of their small team, navigating politics with Shockwave and his one surviving predacon, ordering them all around and then caving to their pleas for an extra break, being-

Well. Being _confident_.

Just like this peace time seemed to scrub away all signs the war had even existed, it had been scrubbing that confidence aside.

And it wasn't right.

But Knock Out didn't exactly want to get upset over it. He still had a good night to look forward to. A few friends to meet. Before that, though, he was going to meet another friend; and they were going to look on and remember the war this planet was convinced it needed to erase.

"You ever wonder?"

The yellow mech glanced over. Yellow. Why did he go back to yellow? His primary black scheme had been dazzling and evoked all the leadership he'd once had.

"Wonder...what?" Bumblebee prodded.

Oh, right; he'd been saying something. Knock Out shook his thoughts about the other's paint job away.

"Why you had to be the one to do it?" he finished.

For a moment, Bumblebee either played dumb or was genuinely confused.

Knock Out elaborated: "Kill the Big M. Ever wonder why it was you in the end?"

Bumblebee went bashful, rubbing his head and looking away.

"Oh, I don't know why that'd be a big deal...really, it's-"

"Fragging impressive." The medic crossed his arms after he had interrupted. "Really, why bother selling it short? You killed an unkillable legend."

If it had been him that had done it, Knock Out would never stop bragging. It was something to be celebrated, not forgotten and reduced to some museum somewhere only younglings visited.

"I-I don't-"

"Why do you sell it short? Why do you let the world sell it short?" the medic asked.

That last question could've applied to more than Bumblebee's killing (however temporarily) of Megatron.

It could've meant the time he'd spent as temporary leader of Cybertron.

It could've meant the war itself.

The other race car had no answer.

Neither of them did.

But when they left a few jours later, they both drove in their Earth-based altmodes.

Neither had chosen new ones of cybertronian build.

Before they left, Knock Out spared one last glance at the star saber.

What a powerful weapon, even when it wasn't in the servo's of a Prime. But in those servos? Well, Optimus Prime could've ended the war rather quickly. Killing Megatron before the other had created his own superweapon wouldn't have been too hard. The one hit to the Nemesis had almost grounded it. A second would've truly made that 'the darkest hour' of the decepticons; quite likely the last.

It hadn't been. Only one strike had ever hit the warship. Its magnificent power was never fully utilized against his old boss.

Really, Optimus could have used that thing on its dusty pedestal to end the war weeks before it had ended.

But he hadn't. He had never killed Megatron.

Sometimes, Knock Out really wondered why.

* * *

It was a bit amusing to hear her blatant act get called out. Normally, her victims would latch onto the hope she was offering with peaceful words. Maybe humans were just naturally cynical. Or maybe this one just happened to remember their last meeting.

"Alright," Airachnid pushed away from the ledge June stood on with a chuckle that made the human flinch. Good. "You've caught me."

Not that there was ever any argument there. The entire spiel about doing it without bad intentions, all peaceful thoughts, etc- as the human had said, it was all 'bullshit'.

"So long as you're mine, though, I can make the autobots do whatever I want," the femme smirked.

At least until they determined her demands were not worth the human's life.

And that moment would be sure to tear them up just as much as complying with her demands would be.

"I want their latest 'archaeological' finds. I want whatever silly relics they've been fighting over lately. And most of all-" she dropped back down over the human, who cringed back away. "-I want to watch their struggle as they bring my gifts to me. As they're forced to cooperate with me without indulging their wish to kill me. Not with your fragile little life on the line."

Too fragile, it seemed. Dark red bubbled up on the human's arm where Airachnid had let her claw slip too deeply.

Silly of her.

Then again?

It would be obvious enough on the video feed when she was making demands for the autobots. And a little blood would only add more urgency to their panic.

"Think about it, _Ju-une_!"

The disgusted reaction to how she purred the human's name reminded her of a certain two-wheeler. Airachnid viewed it as a premonition, a sign of delights to come.

"Can you _imagine_ the look on Arcee's face when I make her bring my prizes?"

Airachnid could. It was delicious.

All of the autobots would react so wonderfully. Perhaps she'd demand that Arcee deliver the gifts- or maybe she demand the other stay and imagine how the two-wheeler would be tearing herself up over not being there to save the little human.

Sending for the brute would likely leave the doctor in a similarly helpless, miserable mess. Of course, demanding the medic would mean the one-opticed brute would be doing the same as he waited in suspense.

So many options, so much time to deliberate.

All the time in the world that this human stayed alive, that is.

Or that Airachnid could use her corpse convincingly in videos.

"I'm not helping you do that!" June spat.

Brave little one. Too bad she was shivering; what a give away. Weak.

"_Hm_," Airachnid tapped her chin as if in thought and then brightened up. "I do know where you live. I presume your son still stays there?"

The human went quiet. The femme could have laughed.

Silly, caring creatures were always so predictable.

"Now, if you'll excuse me-" she lurched one arm forward and grabbed the bleeding human easily, "We have a call to make."

* * *

This was stupid.

This was-it was impossibly stupid.

The last time he'd done something so rash had been while he was under the influence of poorly constructed synthetic energon.

Ratchet didn't have that excuse this time.

But he was stressed. He was so very stressed and the lone wolf wrecker had offered an outlet.

If it wasn't for that cursed Airachnid, Ratchet never would've found himself here; standing in temperature hot enough that the air was rising in visible ripples while Wheeljack dumped the last crate into the pit they'd scraped up.

One Earth hour ago, the autobot base had been hailed. Raf had paused his current work to set his laptop aside and approach the monitor.

"Who's that, Ratchet?" the boy had asked. "It looks like it's an...insecticon frequency? I must not be reading that right."

His first instinct was to agree with that conception. No matter how smart the child was, he still had severe roadblocks in understanding cybertronian script; obviously, he had misread th-

But it _was_ an insecticon frequency.

The team had gathered to see it. The video had left them all reeling.

No matter how the others felt, Ratchet knew what was happening to him. The evening June had gone missing, she had been heading back to get her son. He should've merely bridged Jack over. He never should've let her drive alone, even if she'd done it a dozen times without incident.

Hindsight was 20/20, that Ratchet knew, but he still felt responsible.

He wasn't the only one taking guilt on. While Miko had been more angry than usual over Bulkhead's injury, Jack was now panicking. But there was nothing for him to do and he knew it. Just like Ratchet knew there was nothing he could do either.

Airachnid, forgotten by most of them after she had gone silent, demanded the stores of Tox-En and red energon found at M.E.C.H.'s facility in Sinaloa. That was already a preposterous demand. Yes, they had bridged the red energon to the base before. But trying to bring the Tox-En to whatever rendezvous point they chose would be impossible by groundbridges. Such volatile substance was not cleared for that means of travel.

Besides. Optimus had already said that, while "we will do everything in our power to bring our friend back safely", they 'could not give Airachnid such powerful weapons'.

If Ratchet knew Optimus, however, then the Prime would be caving on that soon enough. He would always put the safety of one human over cybertron's best interests.

When it was a human that Ratchet happened to know and care about, that flawed decision making of his old friend seemed far less infuriating and far more conflicting.

The medic had left the base in all its chaos quickly. Outside, hidden behind an outcropping of rocks as best as it could be, was the _Jackhammer_. Inside was a mech that never got conflicted over making a bad choice out of two bad options.

"You ready?" Wheeljack came back to Ratchet's side.

The older mech looked at the pile of dangerous toxins. Bulkhead's plan to burn it away still seemed to be their best option. If M.E.C.H. hadn't interfered, there was little doubt the weapon would have melted into a very dangerous sludge.

While they had no volcano nearby, they could still do the best they could.

Instead of speaking, Ratchet offered a short nod.

Speaking would feel like giving the order itself. If June ended up dying, speaking would have felt like the execution command. This was her ransom they were burning up.

The wrecker tossed his grenade from one servo to the other; then it was extended over to Ratchet.

"You want'a do the honors?" he asked.

Normally, he wouldn't.

Ratchet took the grenade and, before Wheeljack could patronize him about not knowing to use it, primed the thing.

This was stupid and he didn't do stupid things.

But here he threw it into the pit and ran for cover with the wrecker regardless.

* * *

M.E.C.H. had the most sophisticated anti-hacker systems humanity could offer.

But even those could not stand up to the joint pressure of two skilled hackers.

Perhaps if it was just Raf working to find their point of origin with what unfried material he could find on scene, the systems could have prevailed.

Against a being who had perfected the art of surveillance?

They stood no chance at all.

At times, the two hackers caught glimpses of each other's handiwork. They never once interacted, but both recognized who the other was.

For this once, they were not opposing forces.

And so neither Rafael Esquival nor the decepticon Soundwave interfered in the other's work as they carved back the final layers of protection that M.E.C.H.'s Chimera operation had.

* * *

"I can't believe I just pulled a Miko!" Jack laughed nervously, tailing Smokescreen alone out of the groundbridge.

So long as he was busy with the rookie, he couldn't think about his mom.

Or he wished he couldn't. It was impossible to cut the worry off, no matter how many distractions he and Smokescreen tried. The stress was all encompassing.

At least, it had been until he saw the crowd of decepticons below.

He and the autobot rookie crept over to cover and watched the operation unfolding. All of it was centered around one side of rock outcropping and the metal hanging out of it.

"What is that?" the human whispered to himself.

It almost looked like...a hilt, of some sort.

The more he thought of it like that, the more Jack felt that his guess was true. This was Arthurian, then. Straight out of the myth.

"Whoa.." Jack breathed, then turned in excitement to Smokescreen. "It's a sword!"

The rookie looked similarly flabbergasted.

"Not just any sword," he replied, "That looks like the star saber; a legendary weapon forged by Solus Prime, as lore would have it."

Time spent guarding the elite archives of old did not seem to have been wasted on Smokescreen.

"It's rumored to to wield the power of the Matrix."

The same strength Jack, even as a human, could practically feel emanating from Vector Sigma.

If that power had been enough to return Orion Pax to Optimus Prime, he could only dream of what the saber would do for them.


	29. The Center of the Storm

No one at the autobot base is happy. Megatron isn't either.  
Really, nobody is happy except maybe M.E.C.H. and Airachnid

_AN- Incoming references- The DJD and Drift/Deadlock from the IDW 2005 continuity get mentioned. But since Megatron in the Aligned continuity hails from the Pits of Kaon rather than hailing from Tarn as he does in the IDW-verse, 'Tarn' is called 'Kaon'. It is still the same crazy purple guy leading the DJD though, just with his name swapped, so don't get confused over why IDW Kaon would be in charge._

_If you're not a reader of the IDW, don't worry about the above note XD_  
_(...although if you're a Transformers fan, you really should go read More Than Meets The Eye because it is plain awesome)_

* * *

"We have rookies everywhere," Ratchet grumbled. He was slouched in the side seat of the _Jackhammer_ while its pilot took them back towards Jasper.

Their mission was a success. If it could ever feel like one.

As if trading away the keys to getting June Darby back could feel like anything more than murder.

The fact that Airachnid would likely have killed her regardless of getting her weapons or not proved to be little relief.

"'thought we just had one runnin' around," Wheeljack replied with a frown.

Granted, they'd both been frowning. The entire flight there; the entire flight back. Taking the route for the greater good never ended up feeling _good_.

Maybe that's why Optimus seemed to fail at it. Why he always chose the short term over the long term; a teammate or alien local over their dead planet or the war.

That, and his sad hope that redemption would still be possible. Granted, having two decepticon's defect recently had only served to bolster that hope. Ratchet, however, knew that a whole lot more than two cons had defected in the past and their 'redemption', to use Optimus's word, had never turned the tide of the war.

Normally he'd scold himself for thinking so pessimistically. But at the moment, heading back from destroying the weapon that could have saved June Darby's life, Ratchet could not garner even a touch of optimism.

"Smokescreen, yes, yes. But I still consider the other two _autobot_ rookies, even if they are not rookies of war."

At this point, the old 'Team Prime' felt like only two-thirds of the base.

Not that Ratchet was trying to rush the others away.

"'guess you're right then." Wheeljack grunted, barely looking away from the controls. "Not that your base isn't always crowded. Between the new guys and the humans-"

The sentence cut off.

But it really was too late.

The duo stayed silent for the short bit of flight left. When they came down on the dirt, it was only Ratchet that shuffled out of the _Jackhammer_.

In a small comfort, the little ship did not take to the skies after it had dropped him off.

Ratchet walked into the base with no small amount of dread. Chances were high that Jack would be here with the other kids and he would have to tell the boy...

The room was quiet.

That took him off guard. The old medic glanced around and saw only Knock Out nearby. The red mech was leaning near the groundbridge controls, scrubbing at his claws with one of the many cloths he hoarded.

Sometimes it bothered Ratchet to see those claws. After rejoining the autobots, Drift had filed his down to blunt fingers again. Sharp, long digits were a hallmark of decepticons; with the way he'd rushed into getting the autobrand, Ratchet had expected Knock Out to do the same.

But what bothered him far more than the sight of a hallmark decepticon's servos was the sight of Knock Out alone.

"Where are the others?" Ratchet snapped. The young medic glanced up away from his cleaning in surprise.

"Erm, they're out," he answered, a bit pointlessly. That much Ratchet had already gathered. His unimpressed expression prompted the younger mech to continue. "Most of the team is looking for an Iacon relic. Smokescreen is scouting the location of another relic right now-"

What?

"Alone?"

The red and black optics widened at his tone.

"Well, yes," came the slow reply, "There weren't exactly any more of us to look."

Other than himself. But Ratchet couldn't complain at that; it was common protocol to leave a mech in charge of the groundbridge.

"Have you heard from either team?" he asked.

The flashy medic shrugged.

It was at that moment that the comm lines lit up. Ratchet had programmed phone calls to go straight into the team's comm line long before; when it had become clear that the humans would be here to stay.

The alert on screen came from Jack's cell.

"Knock Out!" the boy was saying urgently. "You gotta get Optimus here now!"

Wait-

"Smokescreen went for the relic! It's called...it's called the star saber? We need backup!"

The star saber? Had he just said the star saber?

But of more importance...

The two medics looked at each other. Knock Out wilted under Ratchet's glare.

A moment later and the old medic hissed: "You let Jack do _what_?"

* * *

The relic continued to move as they tracked it through the fog.

Something was not right.

Optimus slowed as he led his squadron.

"Ugh!" Arcee slapped the locator in frustration. "Every time we get close to the beacon, the signal moves."

Bulkhead groaned, either at hearing that or in the frustrating lull that had overfallen all of them. "All this legwork is giving me itchy fists."

On the other side of the group, wisely distanced from the wrecker, Breakdown let his hammer wave impatiently.

"Seconded," the neutral agreed.

Their moments of united, if impatient, thought made Optimus a little bit proud. But now was not the time for such small happiness.

"It seems we have been led astray by a decepticon trick," he stated slowly.

No doubt Soundwave's work.

If that was the case, then it would be best to return to base. A decoy signal was only meant to hide a real relic; and they would need to obtain that very relic Megatron deigned vital.

"Knock Out?" he commed.

There was only static on the line.

But the green glow up a groundbridge roared to life behind them. It was his old friend who ran through rather than the young medic they'd left in control of communications and transport.

"We have a situation."

As he was apt to, the medic did not elaborate.

He did not need to.

"Return to base," the Prime ordered clearly.

Upon entering, Optimus was struck by the ill mood. Ratchet had moved back to the controls and stood with urgency written across his face. Nearby, Knock Out was slouched. What was almost regret seemed covered in an air of insult, offense.

It reminded Optimus that he still needed to speak with the young recruit about how to take admonishing.

Reprimands were unavoidable; it did not make one in anyway lesser to be faced with a rebuke. It merely made them mortal.

"What is the situation?" he asked.

"Smokescreen has confronted Megatron and a squadron of the decepticon army over a relic while you were gone," Ratchet explained quickly. "Someone let Jack go with him. They're both in danger."

At that, Arcee bristled up dangerously.

"We cannot allow either of our comrades to be hurt," Optimus declared, readying himself to order a new groundbridge.

"Oh, and Optimus?" the medic interrupted first. "The relic is the star saber."

The Matrix inside him would not let Optimus doubt or panic at such news. Even if it should be false news.

"Bridge us there."

They arrived to a scene of chaos.

But the Matrix would not let him stall in surprise here either.

Although it was merely sunset, as this relic seemed to be in a more eastern timezone than Jasper's now nightfallen location was, the valley they stood in was darkened. Light from the sky was blocked out by a mountain of rock; a mountain suspended and lifting towards the _Nemesis_.

"Go to Smokescreen-" Optimus pointed at where vehicons were carrying the rookie towards Megatron. "Arcee, recover Jack. I will go for the star saber."

The team tore into action while he drove for the rocks near where the mountain was raised. While gun fire and shouts could have distracted others, Optimus remained solely focused on leaping from boulder to boulder, driving as fast as he could on flat surfaces, trying his hardest to reach the star saber before either the mountain lifted too high to attain it or the decepticons engaged him in battle.

The battle came soon. Flight-born vehicons, joined by Megatron, had reached his elevation and were shooting. Optimus could not allow himself to pause in his ascent and fight them off.

He could not afford to lose this relic.

A ledge of rock provided the ramp he needed. He drove off of it and let himself carry through the air. Even as a shot connected with his armor and knocked him off course, Optimus remained focused on reaching the hilt hanging out of the mountain.

The roar of engines got louder. The ground below got closer.

But the hilt was still in reach. And Optimus wrapped his servo around it, breaking his fall and letting him hang airborne.

The saber reacted to his touch, to the Matrix, instantly. It whirred in power and slid free of its stone seathe.

And so he dropped.

The height no longer worried him.

His pursuers did not double back. Instead, they transformed above the warship and dropped atop it.

There was barely any time to revel in the success. In the air above, the clamp of the cable opened and the mountain dropped.

Optimus could hear it roaring as it rolled over the hill towards him. He could hear his team panicking, yelling for him to return.

But he did not heed either sound. The only noise that mattered was the hum of the Matrix; both within him and inside this weapon of Prima's.

And then he turned and carved through the mountain of earth in one swipe.

All sounds from his team dimmed away. There were no others.

He expected that there was panic aboard the _Nemesis_. He expected it and so he turned his head upwards to look at its bridge.

_You lose, Megatron._

The war could come to its end. There was no defense that warship, formerly the largest advantage the decepticons held over his autobots on Earth, could offer against the star saber's might.

Optimus continued to stare upwards. He believed in his spark that the decepticons could see his gesture, could see the few moments of reprieve he offered them, could feel the time needed for this moment's depth to sink in.

Then the wait he offered ended. Optimus ran forward, never letting his optics disconnect from the _Nemesis_-

He could not look away. Not if this was to be the end. Not if this was to be the moment all those sparks on the warship would flicker away.

He would not allow himself to look away from such a magnitude of responsibilities.

Not even as he cut forward and let the energy rip through the air towards the back end of the retreating warship.

_For such a big, strong bot, you're soft-_

Never taking the advantage to snuff Megatron. Never taking the step to end the war.

The _Nemesis_ was retreating and he struck at it regardless. Smoke billowed outwards and the warship dropped before righting itself. It curved up in the air but its ascent still left it within striking distance. The ship was damaged. Another hit could drop it for good.

But this time, Optimus could not bring the saber up to make that strike.

* * *

Arcee was furious. But she was not the only one.

Normally, being scolded by her would've made Jack cave. She knew that.

Now, the teen refused to return to his home even after she'd snapped at him to do so.

"Not until mom's back!" he snapped.

It reminded all of them of the situation they were still trapped in.

"And you!" she spun away from her small partner to scold someone else. It did not feel possible to scold Jack anymore now that he had brought up his mother.

Arcee knew well enough what it was like to have a loved one in danger.

What it had been like when Cliffjumper was missing but his life signal remained online.

The stress that waiting, without any knowledge of what was happening to him or if he would live, had summoned. It had almost felt worse than receiving the news his signal had gone offline; anticipation was a different kind of terror from grief.

"We didn't need another child in our ranks-" she snapped at Smokescreen.

The rookie deflated further. His optics looked down at the floor.

"Look, Arcee...I was wrong. 'm sorry again. And if you need to kick me off of Team Prime-"

An idea which seemed preposterous after they'd allowed Knock Out and Breakdown into their ranks. The rookie was dumb, but he didn't have a stained ledger like those two.

Her point wasn't to kick him off.

She just...she needed to vent somehow.

With two steps, Optimus had approached them both. "Disregard for human safety, or anyone's safety, will not be tolerated," he said and, like he always did, it made the room fall silent. "Do you understand?"

Smokescreen slumped further. Nearby, Knock Out was looking pointedly away from all else.

Arcee understood why Ratchet had torn into him earlier. The flashy medic should never have allowed Jack to go.

"Fully, sir," the rookie replied.

As though that was enough (which it likely was), Optimus stepped back to address them all.

"We must never lose sight of the fact that upon this Earth we are titans, and such power must be used wisely."

He set the star saber against the groundbridge controls to better face them all.

"There are those here who would not adhere to that," he continued. "They would threaten and harm the people of this world and any other. We must act against these forces."

It was little secret what, or who, he was talking about.

_The acid, the musk of Airachnid's interrogation room, the rot of the dead,_ all around; impossible, but vividly so. Arcee clenched her fists tight.

"Ratchet." Optimus turned to the medic and gave a short nod. "Call in agent Fowler and Rafael. We may need their expertise in navigating human mechanics and politics."

He glanced back at the rest of them.

"We will no longer stall to answer Airachnid's threat."

_The acid, the musk-_

_Her cry of "Tailgate!" desperate, so desperate, to get a response-_

"Optimus," she stepped forward even as Ratchet had moved the Prime aside in order to bridge Raf in. "You can't mean to give her what she wants. Who knows what Airachnid will do with a weapon like Tox-En?"

To their side, the groundbridge lit up. Arcee barely noticed when Raf was not the only human to come through. What did it matter if Miko was with him? If that meant the two of them were distressed enough over June's safety, and their own, that they had likely gotten her to sleep over at Raf's already crowded house?

It shouldn't, it couldn't, her focus was _here_-

Besides, none of the children should be here. She was going to do everything in her power to get June home safely, but if anything was to go wrong then the children should not have to hear it in the command center.

"She won't get it."

It wasn't Optimus that answered. It was Ratchet, head tilted back ever so slightly as he continued to hail Fowler.

Somehow, the quiet, distracted comment sucked all other noise out of the room. Even Miko had gone quiet, pausing next to Raf on the way up the stairs to Jack.

"What does that mean?" the oldest teen asked. When there was no immediate answer, he repeated his question with a crack of urgency betraying itself in his voice. "What do you mean?"

"It means-" a new voice interrupted the room. The drawl came from Wheeljack, who was standing behind the others inside the roadway tunnel out of the base. "-that the doc and I already dealt with our Tox-En problem."

That meant...

"At the expense of an unpopulated and destroyed facility in Mexico, yes," Ratchet confirmed, returning to the screen.

This time Arcee got the distinct feeling he was not doing it to multitask; he was hiding.

"We could not risk it falling into Airachnid's servos."

Arcee knew her junior partner well enough to count down the seconds it took before his outburst.

"You did WHAT?" Jack yelled. It was quite unlike him to ever go so loud in volume. She found herself cringing in sympathy. Feeling her own guilt about Airachnid's continued presence alive on Earth was bad, but it paled in comparison to his own grief and fear.

"We needed that, Ratchet! We needed it to save my mom!"

Any anger she'd felt earlier when he and Smokescreen had pulled their stupid stunt fully evaporated.

"No-now she'll kill her-" he continued, "We don't have o-our bargaining chip and my mom will die! She'll die, Ratchet! She'll die-"

Cybertronian or human- it didn't matter. Arcee knew what panic looked like. She'd worn it enough times.

The two-wheeler slid over to the catwalk and prepared to take the teen away from this all. Not to go recess, no, but to- to be like Cliff had been when she'd go through outbursts.

_It's not alright, Cee. It should never have happened. But you've got bots here for you._

_You've got me._

_You'll always have me._

"Jack.." Raf interrupted the other boy's mantra by tugging nervously on his gray sleeve. "Maybe not. We tricked Soundwave with the virus in Laserbeak. If we could trick the smartest con out there, we could trick Airachnid."

Even with his nervous quiet, Raf had taken all focus in the room.

They knew that sound.

They all (with the exception of perhaps Smokescreen) knew the sound of Raf scheming.

_"What do you mean?"_ Bumblebee asked his little friend. _"Do you have a plan?"_

Raf pushed his glasses up with one finger.

"Not exactly a plan," he said, "Just an idea. I think I've figured out where M.E.C.H. is making their cybertronian tools. If we could set up a trap for Airachnid, tell her to go to that location in order to get her ransom, maybe we could end up killing two birds with one stone?"

The team cast glances around at each other as they mulled the thought over.

* * *

The _Nemesis_ was leaving a smoke trail.

It felt like the least of their worries at the moment.

Megatron stood at the helm, looking at the screen that they had watched Optimus Prime taunt them on earlier.

He had never known Optimus to be the taunting type.

The warlord could not erase that image from his processor. Through Soundwave's many reaches of surveillance, they watched every moved Optimus made after taking the star saber.

That cold glare made Megatron feel something akin to an emotion he had long banished from himself. Just as Optimus had proven in the cave after Airachnid's insecticon trap, his rival leader was willing to go to lengths he'd never before been willing to go.

It had now dawned on Megatron that he too would need to adapt.

But how to do so? How to indeed...

There were many pressing matters in this latest turn of the war. First and foremost was the state of his army. Megatron had lost four officers in less than a planetary solar cycle. His vehicon troops were spread out to protect mines across this world. Others came to an end at the servos of the autobots. Not unexpected at all; they had been created for such a purpose under the hope their numbers would provide an advantage.

But there was another army on this planet. The insecticon hives. Not led by him, joining the might of his warship and doubling his forces, but led by a traitor more than willing to kill him. A large chunk of this hive had been incinerated in the _Nemesis_'s canons during her failed coup, but Megatron only saw this as a loss. Those warriors he'd vaporized could have belonged to him. They could have provided him with an exceptional edge against the autobots.

Both his vehicon army and Airachnid's insecticon one faced their own enemy as well; the pesky organics that had abducted Breakdown. To have his vehicons turned against him was worse than to have them killed. It was better to face the enemy with a ratio of 1:1 than to allow it to become 0:2; but this was exactly what this..M.E.C.H. group did. The spawn of Unicron took after their creator far more than they would admit to doing.

Pests. But ones he could not ignore. Why else had he allowed Dreadwing to continue his otherwise useless crusade against mere humans?

To top all of that off, the autobots had increased in ranks while his own armies dwindled. First, Knock Out and Breakdown had gone traitor and defected. As delightful as it would have been in past vorns to sic Kaon and his rabid team after the two traitors, the fact remained that the war on Earth required a far different touch than the war in the stars had. What mattered was less an insult to the pride of the decepticon cause and more the mere fact that his army had decreased by two while Optimus's had increased by the same two. And this cycle had proven that they had taken on another autobot who had declared himself 'Smokescreen'.

The 'first and foremost' reason also happened to be his strongest reason for even considering what he was now.

Even with his armies, his loyal second and third in command, his warship- Megatron seemed to be losing. Somehow, impossibly so, but somehow, he was falling behind.

So he was forced to mull over all the factors and what options he had.

First came those factors. What was different as of late compared to the state of his army only orns prior?

The high command, for one, had changed multiple times recently. First, he had prepared for a change in commands before he had led Starscream to the mine in which he had planned to terminate him. Then came the seeker's defection and Airachnid's promotion. Her stint as 2IC had not lasted long. After her treason, the position had gone to Dreadwing and it had remained with him to the present.

So he would think on Dreadwing's usefulness then.

The bulky seeker was a good warrior. He could keep up with Optimus himself, a fact that happened to anger Megatron but a skill that had to be admonished. He could withstand far more damage than Starscream or Airachnid could. His duty kept him focused on his task, though his honor was frustrating. And he was, like his deceased twin, unarguably loyal to Megatron.

The warlord could say with absolute certainty that Dreadwing would never betray him. Even if Megatron were to renounce the cause altogether and order his armies to drop to their knees in front of Optimus Prime (curse the thought), he had no doubt Dreadwing would do so.

But therein lay one of his problems. His loyalty was blinded. It was centered entirely around Megatron himself. It was a long forgotten factor of certain bodyguard classes of old; a focus on their singular master, no matter what path that master took.

Dreadwing was loyal to Megatron- _not_ to the decepticon cause.

And in that he failed to adequately lead the armies on this ship. The seeker focused on one mech only and not the whole.

His second problem related to that. Dreadwing had been distracted from the cause as of late. He had began to focus on one vehicon and was determined to follow its requests to the end. Since it just so happened that such requests related to removing this M.E.C.H. group from all equations, Megatron had allowed the missions. But they still factored as distractions for his 2IC.

It seemed that Dreadwing was a worthy officer of small squadrons, a fearless warrior, and a mech who would not try to stab him in the back to take the army for himself.

And it seemed that sort of mech was not enough for the decepticon cause to succeed. Optimus had a weapon of the Prime's now. He had nearly three times as many officers as Megatron did, if he were to include himself in that count.

Megatron would need to revamp his armies in order to better face the autobots, the insecticon hordes, and the human puppetry of his drones.

He needed more numbers. And he needed more officers fit to lead them.

Soundwave remained his third and always would. But Soundwave had slipped as of late, although he had returned to his many tasks with admirable vervor.

Other than Soundwave and Dreadwing, who was he left with to count on? Who among the vehicons could adequately manage the many tasks aboard the _Nemesis_, direct armies, and strategize in areas that Megatron was too busy to strategize in?

He was exhausted trying to manage it all. Smaller scale strategies should never have had to be dealt with by him and yet they were now:

The rising ranks of all his enemies while his own shrank demanded action.

It all demanded that he increase his own ranks as well. That he prevent any of his enemies from getting a hold of a single capable mech more when he himself could have that mech.

But curse Optimus, the traitors, and the organics for forcing this upon him. His fists ground on the podium before him for a brief moment of withheld anger and frustration. His third stood nearby watching, but never commenting on his behavior.

Megatron sighed. "Soundwave," the warlord said what he had hoped not to have to: "Where is Starscream?"


	30. Transference

Dreadwing ruminates on memories and finds himself transferring too much of his own bond, and loss, with Skyquake onto the vehicon's situation.

_AN- Big thanks to those readers who dropped a review; each one brightened my day._

_Also another obligatory Airachnid warning, she keeps stealing scenes and being creepy_

* * *

Neither of them were apt to panic.

They were mostly calm and collected; if not, then they were likely angry and woe be to those who made them so.

But that did not make them immune. Dreadwing remembered how he had felt twisted inside when he heard that his twin would be departing.

It paled in comparison to feeling him die.

But during his death, Dreadwing had not had the time to share words with his brother. They had not spoken and so their only goodbye had come when Skyquake had received the orders to wait on Earth.

_«I'm going into stasis»_ his brother's voice had come across their spark.

Stasis. He would not be able to feel his twin's active thoughts or words.

Dreadwing felt his side of the spark twist in brief anxiety over that thought.

_«You are?»_ he asked.

The panic tampered out. Neither of them indulged in such emotional distress.

Part of that was pride.

Part of that was the ever calming pulse of their shared spark. So long as they had each other, they would also have comfort.

_«Lord Megatron plans to send me to a small world holding energon caches and the dead remains of our old Predacon army. I will await him there in my stasis pod.»_

_«A great honor»_ Dreadwing said, _«I am so proud of you, that you were chosen for such a task.»_

Their sparks reached for each other- two halves of one whole. He could feel every emotion Skyquake felt, hear every thought.

Vorns later, he would feel the exact pain a spark felt in guttering out. He would hear the thoughts of panic as Skyquake fell downward, wires and veins ripped out, to what would certainly be death.

They were the sickest of thoughts, for Skyquake was not supposed to feel fear or panic. Neither of them were.

_«It is an honor,»_ the absent twin agreed, _«But I will miss you while I lay as though dead.»_

They were supposed to have only experienced such silenced separation while one lay in stasis.

Neither were supposed to die in this foolish war.

_«Our time disconnected will be anguish for us both. But know that I will carry on with our master's task until you awaken once more.»_

For of course he would awaken; for of course, death would not arrive to ones so skilled as Skyquake nor himself.

How this moment hurt in hindsight.

How every moment hurt...

_«I trust you will.»_

The brothers went silent. In the absence of talk, all that hummed was their joint spark.

_«It is my time»_ Skyquake spoke again, much later. _«I must go into stasis or else I shall be forced to consume Lord Megatron's fuel sources on this world.»_

One final moment, they allowed their spark to swell in unity.

_«Do as you must,»_ Dreadwing told him. _«I shall reunite with you when our master commands it.»_

Affection was strong from his twin.

How he missed that affection.

_«Farewell, my brother»_ the other thought and then his side of their spark faded into silence.

Vorns later and Dreadwing would relive this very scene in his moments of quiet. As a memory, he could change nothing of the events that passed. Skyquake would always travel to Earth and fall silent. His reawakening would end in his death. Dreadwing refused to allow himself to waste away imagining otherwise.

But he still relived their conversation.

And sometimes, if he was sufficiently weak, he pretended he could add words of true farewell. Those that only a mech knowing it was the last time he would speak to another would add.

_Until all are one, Skyquake_

Until they were one once more.

And until then? Dreadwing would live with a half spark fractured in loss.

* * *

The seeker had received the coordinates from Soundwave, along with an alert to see his master before departure.

Dreadwing had risen from the floor of his quarters, breaking free of his meditation and mourning. Time was of the essence. Grieving could wait.

He found Megatron near the groundbridge control room. Behind his master stood Soundwave, silent as ever.

"Ah," the warlord spoke, gesturing at him to approach. "Dreadwing. I hear you are going to deal with our human pests?"

Before he could do any more than nod, Megatron was continuing.

"I give you full clearance to do so. But I thought it wise for my high command to know a decision I have made."

Of course, Dreadwing waited to hear the decision with respectful quiet. It made the warlord's sharp smile grow.

"Soundwave and I will be heading out to retrieve Starscream."

Despite thinking he would expect any statement, Dreadwing reeled at the comment.

_What?_

"That traitor?" he asked.

Whatever smile had been there changed to a sneer and then a frown.

"Yes," Megatron hissed, "Him. But before you assume so, it is not to kill him."

_What, what, what-_

"My liege?" Dreadwing let his confusion slip through. "I am not following."

Making his height far more obvious, Megatron loomed over him.

"You do not have to," he growled.

Ever so slight, Soundwave shifted his weight. The tiny action made the warlord look behind himself at his 3IC.

When he looked back, the brief hostility was contained.

"We decepticons find ourselves facing our darkest hour. We have enemies converging and building on all sides. It has become evident that we require reinforcements. Starscream is a capable tactical officer and has vorns of knowledge of our plans. If he is to live, it is better that he be at our sides rather than against us."

Surely it was not his place to question his lord, but...

"Won't the traitor try to kill us all?" he asked. The question made Megatron chuckle.

"I believe that Starscream is loyal to the decepticon cause. His goal has always been to lead it, rather than tear it down, after all." Stepping back to stand by Soundwave, he continued to glare at his second. "I intend to put my prodigal lieutenant through the cortical psychic patch in order to confirm this theory. If it turns out I am wrong?" The warlord flashed fangs again. "I will remove the threat he poses us for good."

How very pragmatic of him.

But Dreadwing had always struggled to be a pragmatic mech. His master seemed to notice that confliction.

"You will, of course, remain my second for the time being," Megatron waved nonchalantly.

He assumed that was his worry. He assumed incorrectly.

"My concern is not regarding my position," Dreadwing shook his head. "I will go wherever you direct me to without complaint. I only worry about your own safety. It does not seem wise to welcome a traitor back into our ranks."

"That is not your concern," the warlord replied, "But my concern is that you will not accept this change."

Immediately, the seeker shook his head.

"It is not my place to question your decision," he reassured, "I will not fight you on this and I will not fight him; not unless he threatens you."

Once again, Megatron sneered. "Do not. Infighting has almost destroyed us before. Now, as we face this darkest hour, we cannot afford to be divided nor distracted by personal, trivial missions of unimportance. _Understood_?"

There could only be one response to that.

Dreadwing nodded.

"Good," his master grinned, "Your loyalty is always so inspiring for the troops. We shall leave you to your mission, then."

His steps were heavy as he walked past his superiors into the control room. Despite himself, he felt strained, frustrated.

There was no time to indulge such petty irritation.

The groundbridge transported him to a quiet compound on Earth's surface. Above, the sky was dark in one of the planet's night cycles.

As tall as he was, able to look out over building tops, Dreadwing believed he could see that this facility was larger than the last one he had attacked. More enemies with their modified weapons to face. More distractions from whatever vehicons remained alive here in M.E.C.H.'s labs.

No. There was no time at all.

* * *

Airachnid had almost given up on the autobots. If not for the vorns of hunts, she'd have impatiently believed they would not comply with her.

Thankfully, those vorns of hunts had made her a very patient femme.

So she hadn't neglected her little pet just yet. It was easy to find out the staples of a native species. For humans, it was water and their 'food'. Water was the most important bit. The human could live without food for a while.

The hostage situation reminded her of a few other planets she'd visited. On Tauii, she'd created little outposts that she'd kept a few natives hidden at. Always just a single one; they'd hear that they were special, alone in capturing her attention. They'd all be promised something; their broodmates, their throne. It didn't matter what. It wasn't like she was telling them the truth when she swore the gifts were coming.

At the end, she'd let them free. Let them see that there were other Tauiian's she'd told the same lie to.

And then told them to _run_.

It was so much fun to watch them run.

Her favorite had survived the longest. She'd taken his head for it and hung it in her hall of fame. Really, he should've felt honored to make it there.

Then that cursed Jack and Arcee had destroyed her ship and her hall of fame in one go.

She had no plans to let them get away with it.

At the same time, Airachnid was getting older. Not even cybertronians were immortal. Eventually rust set in in some way or other.

If she had to die, she wanted it to be on her terms. She wanted it to be prolonged so that the rush could last for a lifetime more. Perhaps that was why she found herself taking more risks as of late.

The more risks she took, the better the payoff. Either exquisite suffering from those who'd ruined her trophy case or a painful end far preferable to the helplessness of age-related burnout. And if they almost managed to kill her but she still came out on top? Delightful all the same. Airachnid liked pain, so long as she was in control.

The more enemies she made, truly made with a vicious vendetta, the better those two odds.

A win-win in either circumstance, although killing them was far preferable to being killed.

Well, all things being considered, she had many options here. Perhaps she'd let June run. She still planned on hunting Jack that way. Arcee, on the other hand, hated being helpless. She hated having to watch as those she cared about were hunted or hurt. So that's exactly what Airachnid planned on making her do.

The rest of those victims on her vendata list?

Well, Knock Out and Breakdown would be tied together. Uprooting a partnership was always delightful. Airachnid hadn't chosen which to kill first or how, but those details were unimportant.

Starscream was pathetic, but he'd landed a place on the list as well; a low ranking place. She hadn't even considered what to do with him yet.

And Soundwave?

Well. He may be a problem. But even the most stoic of mechs could scream. And they were often more rewarding.

The autobot response rang through her makeshift throne room. It made the human jerk awake on the ledge. The cut on her arm had been covered with her jacket and nothing else. So long as it didn't kill her, why bother getting more first aid supplies for someone bound to die anyways?

"Look at that, honey..." Airachnid pursed her lips and read the message sent by the autobots.

Directions to neutral coordinates somewhere in the U.S. state of Arizona. Instructions to come alone with the human. Promise that they had her Tox-En and red energon supplies as well as the relics. The polarity gauntlet had been fun and the immobilizer was very good at making her enemies truly helpless.

All this for one human?

It was a stupidly unbalanced trade-off.

Although, their continued wording of 'the human' made her smirk. So they were attempting to depersonalize?

It seemed they expected June to die just as much as Airachnid herself did.

"Lovely. Looks like it's time for us to go," she said and slid from her throne. A quick order was sent through her insecticon hive. Come alone? She didn't think so.

"W-wh-" June shook off all vestiges of stasis, well, sleep, and moved away from Airachnid's reach.

Aw, cute. She was still terrified. And here the femme had thought they'd gotten so close lately.

"Don't be scared," she patronized. "There's nothing to be scared off.

The femme laughed lightly; her voice carried the mirth as it responded brightly. It did not seem to reassure the human at all.

"If I was going to kill you, I'd-" Airachnid broke her laugh to lean her face over June and lower her voice, "-do it in front of your friends."

With an admirable amount of gall, the tiny woman managed to twist away from the femme's reach again.

"The-ey're not going to let y-you," June said with exhausted bravado. "They'll s-send you to t-the hell you belong in."

All these different aliens, all their different molecular basis's, all their different cultures-

When it came down to it, they all said the same things.

Airachnid had yet to feel their truth.

* * *

Not many assumed Dreadwing could act with stealth. They were often those who mistook him for Skyquake. His brother had never had a taste for secrecy. But Dreadwing had no qualms with setting traps and catching opponents off guard. The bombs in his subspace were proof of that.

At this moment, his stealth was not intended to set traps. Rather, he planned to find and rescue any surviving vehicons before confronting the humans of this operation. Beginning combat too quickly would only cause undo danger to the hidden captives.

Priority set, Dreadwing crept forward in the quiet compound. According to the information packet Soundwave had scraped together, the vehicons were being held in the second-to-largest building here. It lay nearby, long and flat. Dim yellow light shone from a bulb outside its main door. Human cameras were attached nearby.

But the decepticon spymaster had disabled them. They would catch no sight of him as he crept forward.

Careful not to create too much noise and attract the humans in that way, Dreadwing moved for the building.

The sight inside took him off guard.

Low yellow lights illuminated rows of still vehicons. They lay flat, other than a few crunched into fatal shapes on the side on the building. Cables, wires, and tubes attached to machinery and tanks impaled them in different spots while other more planative devices were attached over vital organs.

There were no bonds.

Somehow the lack of restraints chilled Dreadwing even more than the alien cables did.

Taking a moment to still himself for what he needed to do, the seeker moved for the line. He crouched by the nearest vehicon. There was no external way to distinguish him from any of the others except for the injuries given by the humans.

The red visor flared up at him.

"W-wh-o ar-e y-yo`u?" he stammered, static interrupting his enunciation. Messy glyphs slid into the attempt at speech; a sign of injury, perhaps even to the vocalizer, and of stressors.

The question itself was far more important than any vocal delivery. Who are you? So then...Had he been a prisoner of M.E.C.H. since before Dreadwing had arrived? The chances seemed higher that this vehicon had merely been on Earth guarding a mine and oblivious to the political turmoil on the _Nemesis_.

These humans took those who merely waited to protect the miner class at non-vital mines. Dreadwing wanted to think that was a line the autobots wouldn't even cross; but the files Soundwave kept on XL-2M99's injury seemed to prove that assumption wrong.

That was not for here and now.

"I am commander Dreadwing," the seeker answered evenly. "I am here to bring you home."

The drone struggled to reach for him, but the machinery kept his arms down. Dreadwing tore away the cables inserted by the humans so that the vehicon could reach him.

The action loosened energon; the fluids spilt over both mechs and rolled away on the concrete ground.

"Who are you?" he asked in return.

A part of him expected to hear the designation of XL-2M99's friend.

"X-XL-1S-S~`N...1-" the vehicon managed.

"XL-1SN1, you are leaking energon," Dreadwing said, "You must hold still. I will-"

The seeker jerked backwards when the vehicon gripped his faceplate with wet servos. Mangled servos; wires hanging out and ripped metal jagged against his chin.

"No tim`e," the drone hissed, "N`o ti.~me. G-get them o~`ut. B-ef`or.e cha'`nged."

Although the sudden surprise had made his spark spike up, Dreadwing forced calm over himself.

"I will get all of you out," he reassured, moving to stand and lift the vehicon with him. XL-1SN1 did not allow him to. The grip on his face tightened.

"Don`-t y-ou und`.e-erstan`d? We` will tur,.n on y`-you. Chan~.ged. Turne'd o-on y`ou."

The drone raised itself until its rusted face was just touching Dreadwing's frozen one.

"Tu'rne_d o'n u-us. Stop u-us be` we c-can tu`~rn. D-do yo-o.`u und`.erst-tand?" XL-1SN1 repeated frantically.

To be forced by an alien, whether just your corpse or your still living spark, to fall upon your brothers? It would be far worse than death.

And even so, he had promised to do his best to return the vehicons to the _Nemesis_ alive.

"I do." Dreadwing nodded.

It was the only relief XL-1SN1 needed before falling back to the cluttered ground once more.

A quick scan revealed the worst: dead.

Dreadwing folded the vehicon's arms over his chest and stepped away. The fluids from the cables he'd torn lose continued to stream out, pooling under the deceased drone.

There were others still. He approached the next and found him dead. The spark seemed to glow still but there was no processor activity. The helm was opened and emptied. Even a polished warrior like himself had to shudder at such a sight.

Rows of vehicons seemed to be in the same state. It was enough to make his plating crawl with discomfort and rage.

But such anger had to remain tampered. He must remain calm and find those vehicons that still lived.

There was another; near the end of the row. His servo twitched periodically. Dreadwing moved over to this still living vehicon's side and watched his head shift to stare up at him.

Alive, alive- he would save this one. If none of the others...

"What is your name?" Dreadwing asked. The vehicon's vocalizer garbled worse than the first but managed to say it out.

"X...L-8`~.K-9..C`.'"

_XL-8K9C._ It was the one that the medic had asked him to find.

"Listen to me." The seeker's bombastic voice remained steady. "Focus on your sparkbeat." It has grown erratic in shock at seeing another cybertronian, at hearing another's voice. An erratic spark was often a precursor for shock related death. "Your friend XL-2M99 is looking for you. I am going to bring you back to him."

The vehicon reacted sharply. He tried to lift up, tried to take Dreadwing's offered servos, tried so hard to listen to the command to stay online.

But it didn't matter how hard he tried. A spark could not be told to wait when its time had come.

Dreadwing stayed by the corpse some time. His fists were clenched and shaking.

This had been XL-2M99's brother, or someone who mattered similarly. This was someone who'd had a loved one waiting for them to return.

A wait that would never have a happy ending.

Another brother lost.  
Another brother Dreadwing had sworn to protect and failed to keep alive.

The seeker roared to the sky beyond the roof as he felt his split spark fracture further in grief.

* * *

_AN- Side note about the title: transference is a hypothetical psychological term wherein someone 'transfers' their own thoughts or something they've learned to expect from someone else (typically a relative) onto their therapist (countertransference is when the therapist is the one transferring their thoughts or memories or a reaction onto the patient, and it is typically trained out of most licensed counselors as best as the school can). The title is named after this hypothetical phenomenon because Dreadwing has, for the last good section of chapters, been 'transferring', so to speak, his relationship with his brother and the grief of his death over to the vehicons, most specifically being XL-2M99 and XL-8K9C._

_No, it's not accurate to what the term transference is intended to mean (that's limited to the therapist/patient situation), but it is in some ways similar._


	31. Dreadwing Finds His Tipping Point

The autobots bridge into the M.E.C.H. base in Arizona.  
A few unexpected faces refuse to make this an easy mission.

_AN- All previous chapters and the next 19 have been edited for english mistakes._

* * *

"Do we have a bead on the coordinates?"

Ratchet and Raf nodded together in answer to Optimus's question. Nearby, Fowler shifted where he stood.

"I got the boys ready to move in when you give us the all clear. M.E.C.H. is our mess to clean up," he said.

"I understand, agent Fowler," Optimus addressed him. "But with Airachnid headed there, it is too dangerous. I cannot condone human casualties."

This time it was Breakdown that shifted. "Except those on M.E.C.H.'s side..." he muttered. The mech avoided the pointed glare of disapproval Optimus sent him.

"One-eye is right," Fowler crossed his arms. "Now isn't the time to be pulling punches."

If it was possible, the Prime would probably have shifted like the other two had moments earlier. The entire base was staring at him. Ratchet was frowning.

_For such a big, strong bot- you're soft_

"Perhaps-" was all that he allowed.

"Speaking of that..." the human agent started up again. "Now also seems like a prime opportunity to deal some damage to the cons. Their ship is leaving a smoke trail. My guys could probably trace it down and we could bring this war to an end."

If only it were so easy.

A few feet away, Jack started to splutter.

"And split up the team when my mom's life is on the line?"

It wasn't really what Fowler had intended to imply. But no one could exactly blame the teen for his reaction.

"We shall do everything in our power to return June to you," Optimus tried to reassure.

Lotta good those reassurances did when other autobots ran around making the job impossible.

Jack remembered when Ratchet had almost been assigned his guardian. Optimus had turned to the old mech first and only gave the task to Arcee when Ratchet pulled out a distracted "busy" card.

He'd always figured that had something to do with the Prime not trusting Arcee would be calm enough to 'handle' him after Cliffjumper's death.

Whatever it was, he was more glad than ever that the medic had pulled that card.

Arcee knew what it was like to worry. All Ratchet did was make things worse.

That was harsh. That was an exaggeration.

Jack couldn't bring himself to focus on that fact though.

The conversation had already moved on without him. Optimus was looking his team over.

"Agent Fowler will run interference with the M.E.C.H. side of this. Arcee, Bumblebee; you will work with him."

Splitting Arcee off from the group assigned to scrapping Airachnid was probably tactically wise. But Jack wanted her to be the one he was trusting his mom with.

She'd rescued her before. He believed so badly she could do it again.

He had to.

"Bulkhead. Breakdown." Optimus turned to the big mechs. "Would you be able to work alongside each other and Wheeljack in taking Airachnid, and any warriors she brings through, down?"

The two rivals shared a startled glance and immediately looked pointedly in the opposite directions.

"Eh," the blue one shrugged. "We won't kill each other, boss." Bulkhead offered a slight thumbs up in agreeance.

Somehow, Jack didn't feel reassured that the mech without qualms over dead humans and the one who broke everything delicate in the base, along with a real lone wolf type, would be the crack team in charge of saving h-

"I will deal with Airachnid should you three be distracted by whatever back up she brings," the Prime said. "And Jack?" he moved his attention to look gently at the teen. Jack had the sudden uncanny feeling that all his thoughts had impossibly been heard. "My first priority will be rescuing her."

But-but-

The human sunk down on himself where he stood.

It wasn't like he could do anything better than Optimus Prime could. He still didn't like the helplessness of waiting alone for others to do this. At least when Airachnid and Silas had got his mom last time, he'd been right there on the front lines to save her.

...since when should he have started thinking of that horrible incident with the terms_ 'at least'_?

"This mission will require precision, risk, and courage. And I presume it will incur injuries. Ratchet?"

The medic spun at the controls in confusion over being mentioned.

He'd been hiding there ever since he'd admitted to blowing the Tox-En into molten waste. _As he should._

"You will come with me," Optimus let one servo extend his way.

There was, without a doubt, some reason why he'd ask for the old medic rather than the combat capable young one. Jack didn't know what it was.

"I...Optimus. Why me?" Ratchet's optics were wide. It was guilt, guilt, guilt and it all belonged there-

That wasn't fair of him to think.

But the alternative was thinking about his mom.

Hate was easier to manage than fear.

Nearby, the sound of Smokescreen folding down in disappointment became even more audible.

"Yeah-" the rookie protested. "What about me?"

Optimus leveled his stare down on the young mech. Even with their large (in human relativism) distance, Jack still felt targeted by the disapproval in those blue optics.

"You and Knock Out will remain at base to help Rafael operate the groundbridge and run our communications hub."

If he wasn't stressed beyond his coping abilities, Jack probably would've been amused at the sheer 'dad'ness radiating from the stoic Prime. So those two were grounded, were they?

"Are we clear on our plan and roles?" Optimus swept his attention over the team. Each member straightened up subconsciously. Arcee went ramrod in attention.

"We're clear-" she answered for the group. The Prime nodded.

"Good. Rafael? Open the groundbridge."

Its green flared to life. Agent Fowler started to climb down the stairs.

"Autobots-" Optimus turned to face the portal. "_Roll out_."

The cybertronians of the group sped out, except for those carrying the crates of red energon to bait Airachnid. But it would remain open until Fowler finally made it through.

Why was that important for him to take note of?

Somehow, the answer came in the form he was expecting least: a poke from one of the other humans at the base. Jack turned around to see her watching him impatiently.

"Well, Jack Rabbit?" Miko crossed her arms and looked unblinkingly at him. "We going or what?"

Excuse her but _what_?

The confusion must have been evident on his face. The other teen rolled her eyes.

"Get your mom. Get revenge on the rogues and cons and humans that hurt her and Bulk. Was the gist of it really that hard to understand?" she deadpanned.

The girl _really_ had been truly stuck on revenge since Bulkhead's injury.

But Jack knew better. His mom had raised him smarter. He knew better.

He did.

The boy leveled his stare at Miko and gave a short nod.

"Let's go."

* * *

The site in Arizona was dark with night and terribly silent.

For a M.E.C.H. operation that had just seen a cybertronian portal form, there was very little reaction. No alarms started up. But when the bridge finally shut and its buzzing noise faded away, they could hear a few lone, muted alarms ringing.

Somehow that subdued, un-unified noise was worse than hearing the expected blast of alarms at their entrance.

Something had already tripped M.E.C.H.'s attention.

Optimus took a few cautious steps forward. His guns were pointed at the darkness, expecting to see some new human weapon or one of those deathlike 'chimera's.

There was nothing.

"Fan out," he ordered. The team split into the groups he had planned moments before. Ratchet followed him closely while the three bruisers trailed them; there was a noticeable distance between the two ex-wreckers and the other, but that remained a wise move on their parts.

The only light came from a few working yellow phosphorus, the light of their guns, and the pooling of luminous fluids. Energon. He felt his guard go up further.

_«Prime!»_ Fowler's voice barked through his comm line. Optimus drew up short and waited patiently for the rest of the inevitable comment.

_«We've got a situation. More than one.»_

Of course. Nothing operated as planned. Flexibility was the most important quality a mech could have.

If only the Megatronus of old could've been flexible; perhaps then his reaction to losing the Primehood would have been far less extreme.

It served only to prove the vitality of adaptation.

"What is it?" he asked.

_«I got no eyes on M.E.C.H. soldiers currently able to be a threat, but I'm looking at a whole lotta dead ones.»_

"I see," Optimus sighed. "What else?"

_«The kids ran past me when I was leaving the bridge.»_

He would've stumbled if he was still walking. Blue optics went wide.

_No._

Perhaps the M.E.C.H. casualties could be overlooked, but the children?

_«Lost sight of them in the dark pretty quick. Keep a look out, will ya?»_

"Will do, agent Fowler," he answered.

A worrisome situation. But one that joined a line of troubling situations all of which involved the too-quiet environment around them.

They continued to move deeper into the compound. It was larger than they had expected from previous facilities.

More broken lights. More puddles of coagulated energon and oils. More splashes of blood and unmoving human corpses.

Whoever had done this had the element of surprise over these otherwise well prepared little aliens.

Another warehouse lay ripped apart. Inside were the cooling remains of explosive damage. It seemed there were vehicon and insecticon remains among this cooling mess; the 'chimera' projects, then.

He continued to move until they approached the southern border of the compound. The order to stay on guard did not need to be said. It was obvious. They were not alone in this facility; hidden M.E.C.H. agents may still be prowling and whatever had dealt this damage had yet to b-

The shape was standing behind the large electrical fence. Staring outwards over the desert as he was, the decepticon's glowing optics were hardly bright enough to have been noticed before. It was his bulking silhouette that was first visible.

The form was distinct enough to recognize even with such low lighting. Optimus approached Dreadwing cautiously. The closer he got, the more details became visible, lit up as they were by his glowing gun barrels. The sword of the seeker was still held in one servo. Brown had crusted on pedes and legs; dried blood, no doubt left behind from kicking much smaller enemies around.

Optimus felt something in his spark sink and he had no time to question what it was.

"Dreadwing." The seeker had likely noticed their approach already but he still did not turn from where he stood looking away from the compound. "Why?"

Why ruin an otherwise good record? Why indulge in the barbarous tyranny over weaker life forms that his fellow factionmates did?

A sliver of red appeared when Dreadwing let his face move ever so slightly to the side.

"Do not waste my time with puzzles," he rumbled dangerously.

Despite the threatening cadence, Optimus felt no need to rush into battle.

"Why this slaughter?" he elaborated.

The seeker's shoulders shook with restrained laughter. "Slaughter? Slaughter? You are a fool, insistent on wasting my time."

"You massacred defenseless humans. While this facility could not be allowed to continue its actions, destruction of this magnitude was beneath you. Our war was not with them."

The statement was not the right one to make. The mirth vanished. Dreadwing turned around to face them all slowly.

Optimus recognized something had changed in the honorable mech's expression.

Something had been lost. It was a face of anger compensating for confusion, purposelessness. He wished he could help. It never mattered what faction or who the mech was; Optimus always battled with the instinctive reaction to try to help someone he could see was in pain.

Even when he knew there was no chance they would accept it.

"Defenseless?" Dreadwing growled and the noise chilled its listeners. "Follow me."

Despite the danger radiating from the seeker, Optimus did. They moved into the rubble remains of a warehouse and Dreadwing pulled up to a stop. The blue flyer pointed at one of many twisted purple forms on the ground. "_He_ was defenseless. This human organization's technology can disable and damage a cybertronian with ease, just as it did with him. With all of them. They were defenseless. The monsters that did this were most certainly not."

Optimus had no reply.

The sight of pain, of twisted tortures, of remorseless experiments-

What reply could be given to that sight? What would not undermine the suffering here?

During this conflicted, miserable silence, a louder noise ripped to life.

A groundbridge.

Dreadwing looked away from where he had been glaring at Optimus to stare at the green vortex.

"Were you expecting reinforcements?" he asked in befuddlement.

The first shape to step out was small; a fragile, skinny cybertronian with enough sadism to make up for her size.

He had almost let himself forget that this was their trap when he had run into a different unexpected mech.

With their natural warble, insecticon after insecticon flew out over the femme's head.

It made him tense up and the seeker lift his blade in preparation. How easily the world had narrowed down just to them. How easily they'd let themselves be distracted by the atrocities here and the lull of inaction between two enemies.

"No," Optimus answered, almost pointlessly.

"I once asked you to set aside your hostility with us and stan-"

The decepticon cut him off. "I don't have time for your speeches tonight, Prime! I will stand with you and finish my battle with this scum. But only that," he cast a sideways glare at the autobot leader. "Only that."

The last time they had joined their swords, Dreadwing had said much of the same.

Optimus could not help but hope this farewell threat was as false as the last had been.

* * *

Smokescreen was pouting and it was driving Knock Out up the metaphorical wall. The rookie didn't have a thing to be mad about. He was new here and thought he deserved the exact same treatment as the rest of them? It made sense that he was left behind on such a delicate mission.

But him?

It was a slap in the face. He'd apparently botched the last groundbridge control mission he'd been given. That felt bad enough.

Very, very bad, if he was being honest.

So why was he given another one? What was the point of that?

For what felt like the fiftieth time, Smokescreen let out an exaggerated sigh and paused in his pacing.

"We should be out there," he whined, "We should be helping."

Sitting directly on the metal walkway, Raf barely paused in his typing to respond: "Even if Airachnid does bring back up, which she most likely will, the team is more than capable of dealing with it. They were capable back when it was just four of them heading out in the field and right now we have seven out there. Plus Fowler, and Jack and Miko because, quite frankly, they're idiots."

As if that made it any more reassuring to be tossed aside like scrap.

"Yeahh, but-" Smokescreen let out some sort of garbled, frustrated noise. "I could still help!"

How rude of him to only assume he himself could, or wanted to, help.

"I could-I don't know- I could do...wait!" the rookie perked up. "I've got it!"

The utter enthusiasm there summoned Knock Out's attention away from his own bitter pouting.

The same could not be said of Raf, who managed to breathe out a very audible sigh.

"We've got some relics of our own, but not all of them. Right?" Smokescreen didn't wait for the rhetorical question to be answered. "The human guy said something about the big ship leaving a trail, didn't he? So it's traceable; and you know what's on that ship?"

The medic was perking up at every new bit of madness the rookie said.

"Relics," he answered, "Weapons. Before we came here, Breakdown and I even brought the forge of Solus Prime on board."

Smokescreen was bouncing where he stood, enthused by this added confirmation.

"All ripe for the taking! All we need is to grab some of our own relics Jack showed me you're keeping in storage to use, trace down the smoking warship, bridge me on board and BAM!"

"We add another set of advantages to our ever increasing arsenal," Knock Out chuckled.

They shared a plotting grin.

From where he was sitting, Raf dropped his head against the railing with another sigh.


	32. Do No Harm

Miko goes boldy where the others haven't gone before. Starscream's uneventful rogue life comes to a crashing halt.

* * *

The insecticon almost looked like every other one. But there was an odd plum stripe on one of the lower mandibles. A cybertronian skin condition? Who knew. Ratchet probably would, but Ratchet wasn't here. None of the team were.

Its purple marring always dragged her attention away from the safer place she put her mind in and back to her situation. It made this one look different from all the others. And the minute she recognized it wasn't an identical face, June was putting humanizing characteristics on it.

In her head, she had taken to calling this one 'Bob'. It had only visited twice now, but there were certain mannerisms about Bob that made it a little more bearable than the others.

By 'visited', June meant it was that guard with the boring job to bring her water.

Never food. Her light head and aching stomach were already feeling the side effects of that. But water is better than nothing.

By what little she had seen of Airachnid, June wouldn't have expected her to have any more than what was absolutely necessary for her survival. Although maybe 'Bob' just didn't know how much water it was supposed to bring her. The monster-sized creature brought gallon sized containers of lukewarm water. The next time it came by was with another gallon.

June had looked up at it with a frown.

"I don't drink this much," she gestured at both bottles with her good arm. The one with the cut hurt to move and so she'd taken to keeping it still.

The extra water was used to clean the jacket wrapped around the cut and the thin gash itself. It was far from an antiseptic, but it was also far better than nothing.

Unsurprisingly, the insecticon didn't answer.

The only other one who'd guarded her had growled whenever she so much as made a noise. The dumb quiet of Bob was far preferable.

"Thanks."

She didn't need to add it. If it was just a mindless creature, the word wouldn't even mean anything.

It made a little grunt. Not a growl.

June's stomach rumbled.

"What about food?" she asked without being able to help it. The insecticon cocked its head to one side.

"Food?" it rumbled.

Well look at that. They did speak.

Sounded male too, but she wasn't even sure insecticons had a gender.

"Like energon for you," June tried to explain.

It pointed at the water.

"Like energon," it repeated.

Well, yes, they were both fluids but-

"Never mind."

She shook her head and moved cautiously over to the water. At the start, she would've simply walked to them. June didn't know how long she'd been here, but she did know better than trying to walk normally on top of a tall ledge. The way her head spun from stress and hunger and blood loss made her worried she'd teeter right off the edge of the rock surface.

If she didn't have a kid to get back to and the hope of rescue from the more-than-capable autobots, June wouldn't have been as adverse to the idea.

Airachnid liked to tell stories. Enough of those hanging over her head as possible fates and teetering off that ledge may not sound so unappealing.

June refused to humor that thought. She had to be strong for Jack. He'd been strong in that forest and that night when those M.E.C.H. people had kidnapped her. It was her turn for strength now.

The jacket wrapped around her arm peeled off. The dried water on the fabric and the dried blood from the cut stung to separate from skin; she grit her teeth and did it anyways. Then the stained sweater was dumped in the already contaminated gallon jug and swirled around. When she'd finished and tied it back on her arm, June noticed that her guard was still watching her.

Not with an expression that signaled 'I want to eat you'. More of a...well, she was no expert in reading alien monster's expressions.

"You wouldn't happen to let me off if I ask, would you?" she tried with an exhausted smile. The insecticon's face flinched back in surprise.

"Fuel here-" it pointed at the water again.

Damn this dumb thing, did it not realize that she didn't want to be here?

"Home there-" June pointed to the cave door. She tried to wrack her mind for the right word to explain it to this thing. "..._Hive_..." she tried experimentally "-there."

There was a low titter. The nurse had no idea what it meant.

They went silent again. June felt the cold of the rock beneath her seeping through her pants while she sat. This whole room was cold and fear made her cold and overall she hadn't been able to sleep soundly or warm up since she'd been abducted (again).

A mixture of boredom and an attempt to distract herself from the fear Airachnid always brought when she returned prompted June to ask: "Why follow her?"

Bob's expression didn't change.

"Queen," it (he? She wanted to start calling it a he) said.

The answer, if it could be called that, was too cryptic for her to understand.

"What?" June asked.

"Queen."

"That doesn't mean anything to me," the human admitted.

Her head pounded. The insecticon remained expressionless. And somewhere behind him, she heard an unfortunately familiar laugh.

"It means," Airachnid stepped forward from behind the warrior "-that Scalewing here won't be trying anything I don't authorize. See, insecticons need a dominator. They need a queen. You and I both know the dumb brute types need someone like us, someone with intelligence, to lord over them," she winked and poked June in the side with a knuckle.

It made her rock back. June didn't try to stand back up again. Not until she got food and her head stopped ringing.

She didn't bother to answer Airachnid's false attempt at affability either.

* * *

Starscream had been enjoying the rogue life.

Well, not really. In all honesty, it was going awful. There wasn't nearly enough fuel. There was no expert to reinstall his T-Cog. Without a T-Cog, there was no flight. The _Harbinger_ was completely empty of like-minded company or even just stupid drones. He could practically feel his processor stagnating.

But all that said, there were still the perks of being independent. Sure, the autobots and decepticons and other neutral rogues on this planet all would kill him when they saw him. That lack of allies meant nothing though!

Besides, who needed allies when he had the Apex Armor?

It had taken time to pull himself out of the bottom of the arctic sea in the bulky suit, but the armor hardly allowed any cold or discomfort to seep through. The moment he did manage to heave himself over the flat ice again, Starscream had to laugh.

And laugh and laugh.

He really needed more energon. Deprivation left him susceptible to ridiculous moods.

The others had apparently left while he was still trying to climb the submerged portion of the glacier. Good for them. It just meant they would not die by his servos that cycle.

The seeker had made his way back to where the vehicons had first ambushed him. That stupid pathetic excuse for transportation was not needed when he had the Apex Armor; who needed speed if they no longer needed to be quicker than pain because pain no longer came? He'd stomped the scooter into bits and pretended it was all his enemies under his pedes rather than some tiny vehicle. And what a lot of enemies he had now.

That fact, despite having the Apex Armor on his side, kept Starscream perpetually worried.

Then he'd found the groundbridge controls and returned to the _Harbinger_.

The armor didn't do anything about his energon problem. So the seeker spent the next good cycles working on bridging to mines he had left hidden caches of energon in, like the one where his old master had tried to terminate him, and wore the Apex Armor to keep any threats away.

The cycles ticked on. His supplies of energon were never comfortably large, but they were suitable. His stagnating processor did not receive more company, but Starscream insisted to himself that he was fine alone.

In other words, all things considered, he was finally settling down to life on his own.

Starscream- servant to no one bot or cause. Master of himself.

_Only_ himself, seeing as he lacked an army or even a few lackeys...but that had to be preferable to the alternatives, didn't it?

His plans had slowed down. Starscream wasn't fully certain what either faction was paying attention to these days. He felt perpetually out of the loop and not knowing their plans didn't let him know what his plans should be. It didn't stop him from plotting.

Perhaps if given enough time in that status quo, he would have stopped himself. The lack of stable energon supplies, allies, purpose, and praise could have drove him to giving up his rogue life (though he didn't feel that there was much of an alternative; with enemies on all sides, who exactly could he even turn to in the off chance he wanted to give up this life?).

Time didn't get the chance to test such a theory.

During one boring jour of scanning the human knowledge base for any weapon of use to him, the _Harbinger_'s recently repaired (by his servos, of course; he had far more talents than anyone ever gave him credit for and systems repairs happened to be one of the more boring ones) proximity alarms flared to life.

Oddly enough, the alarms weren't coming from the exterior of this half of the ship. They were coming from from the hall outside this very room.

What the frag?

Before he even had time to stomp to the door and yell at the (sadly unresponsive like everything else in his lonely rogue life) security system, the wall ripped away.

Quite literally ripped away. First the metal pinched together in a distinct mark of claws, claws he recognized, and then a nano later the pinched indent screeched backwards.

Ducking through the gaping hole, spikes scraping against the remains of the wall left above the gap, red optics flaring, pedes echoing heavily with every new step-

Unmistakable.

And Starscream's panicked, if confused, reaction was unmistakable as well.

He caught sight of Soundwave drifting into the room from behind his ever approaching former leader. Both of them? Both of them?

Oh slag, slag slag-

Starscream let out a wordless whine from where he was plastering himself against the desk. His servos were scrambling over its surface for something, anything, deadly enough to go up against the most unkillable mech in the universe. All they scraped up was the same drill he'd once planned on giving himself self-surgery with. The drill pointed up at Megatron's unimpressed face and got knocked aside a moment later.

Slag it, slag it all, he was fragged. This was it. He was dead.

Oh Primus, he didn't want to die! He didn't wanthedidn'twantodidn'twantdidn't-

Instead of melting him down with a single cannon blast, as he had the clones on the Nemesis, Megatron grabbed his head; his massive servo fit effortlessly over the entire vital appendage.

Panic had Starscream fully believing that said vital appendage was about to be crushed into nothing but a sad stain

Somehow, that didn't happen either.

Still wordless, the warlord dragged the momentarily stunned seeker off the desk, over the floor, and through the gaping hole in the _Harbinger_'s wall.

Like the shadow he was, Soundwave trailed behind them, ready to bridge all three back home.

* * *

There was just one brief moment where Airachnid seemed surprised. In her slimy little hands, Fowler could see the yellow and blues of June Darby's working apparel.

Then the insecticon femme began to smile.

"A double cross? Really, _Ar-cee_, I expected you to value June here too muc-"

The premonition could very well have been false, but it was still one of the possibilities; he imagined that, having discovered that the bots weren't about to stick to their bargain, Airachnid's hand would clench shut. The nurse inside would never survive such an action.

So maybe he didn't think very long on the matter. Maybe he acted rashly without figuring out who exactly would help break June's fall.

But Fowler wasn't about to let that imagined premonition enter reality.

He swung the M.E.C.H. made weapon forward and shot Airachnid dead on in the chest.

Not having expected the blow, especially not a shot coming from so low on the ground, the insecticon stumbled back. Her focus broke and concentration wavered.

And so the cage made of carefully closed claws opened and June Darby fell out.

For a single moment, Fowler's heart stopped and he feared he had just let her die from the fall. His mind flashed with the worry that her shriek would sear in his memories.

Breathing returned a second later.

Fast as she was, Arcee had dove in and caught the human long before she reached the ground.

Recovering from her brief shock, Airachnid flexed her claws and transformed onto a longer set of many legs. She shrieked and the sound was so different from June's.

That was the call of bloody murder.

Despite his old training, Fowler couldn't help but backtrack away that sound.

* * *

He'd seen these relics in Iacon before but never held one before. Let alone used one. How cool was this?

The phase shifter had attached itself to his arm with its little claws. First thing he done to test it was take a swipe at Knock Out. Well, he'd found out that the shifter was working alright.

Although in revenge for the 'scare', the medic had taking a swipe at his own paint.

And since Knock Out was _not_ the one wearing the shifter in the moment after Smokescreen had turned its effects off, those claws had peeled right through his silver. It stung like a glitch. Smokescreen, despite his over all glee at wearing one of the Iacon relics, didn't let his happiness filter over the glare he kept directing at the medic.

"Thanks, buddy-" he sneered. Knock Out smiled innocently.

Still acting incredibly uncool about this all, the tiny human Raf finished looking at the human military's tracking geographical map for the _Nemesis_.

"I can try to bridge you onto it, judging from what I have here," he said reluctantly, "But this is a really bad plan. Besides, Optimus wanted the three of us to man the hub!"

Ah, protests, smhotests.

"Come on, Raf-" Smokescreen pleaded. "He said that, but think of the payoff! The forge! The resonance blaster! The war, in our servos!"

The look the human cast him could not be read as anything other than unimpressed disbelief.

"Fine," the boy shrugged and started clicking away at his little keyboard. The groundbridge tore to life again. Smokescreen hopped where he stood and then ran for it.

He paused outside to look behind him.

"Hey, KO. Why aren't you moving?"

The doctor started to inspect his own claws nonchalantly.

"Oh, you know. No phase shifter for me, no protection against every warrior on that ship that wants my head. I think I'll stay and do the job Optimus gave me," Knock Out brushed the rookie off.

Oh no. Smokescreen's expression peeled into a plotting grin.

"Really?" he started slowly, "You'd leave all the glory to me?"

As he'd expected, a little taunt did the trick. Knock Out dropped his servos back down and glared at him.

Unhappy about it? Sure. Still falling for the taunt?

Absolutely.

He slapped the red mech on the back when he reached Smokescreen's side.

"Great! I needed a guide on the old boat anyways-" he laughed.

Since the phase shifter was still disabled, Smokescreen felt every ache when Knock Out grabbed the offending servo and twisted it in the direction it was not meant to go.

* * *

The situation was absolute chaos. June had gone from the palm of Airachnid's servo to free fall, from free fall to another femme's servo, and from that palm into a ruined building. Arcee stood up over her while June tried to get her legs to work at turning her around to look up at the bot.

"Stay in cover," Arcee ordered and then she'd run back into the chaos.

Blaster fire. Insecticon screams. The roar of engines and explosions and yells.

June tried to ignore the noises, but they were everywhere. They were everywhere and her head was ringing from a lack of food and the noises bounced around every part of her skull and-

Where was she even hiding? The nurse found herself rather distracted by the state of the building she'd been shoved into. The 'cover'. It was without a roof. Rubble lay everywhere and two of the walls were caved in on themselves. _What sort of cover was this?_

There wasn't time to scrutinize anymore. The large shape of Bulkhead crashed through one of the still standing walls. The impact threw dust into June's eyes and made the ground beneath her shake. She shrieked, covering her face from the flying debris with one arm, and ran stumbling away from what was no longer a safe place to hide in.

Nothing was. There were giants everywhere. They stomped and fell and flung other giants. The ground had yet to stop shaking. Stray shots landed too close and June, as disoriented as she was, could see that there were far more hulking insecticons in the air above than autobot rescuers.

"MOM!" a familiar voice yelled and June looked wildly through the dark to see it. At the word, her heart had pulsed with relief, hope, happiness at hearing Jack, Jack alive, Jack here where she could embrace him- but the rational side of her returned seconds later and her hearts joy sank down to panic.

_Why was Jack here?_

This wasn't safe. This was chaos. This was the sort of chaos that was unmistakably dangerous for anyone her size.

And then he was visible in the flashing lights and they were hugging and all thoughts of grounding him for life were put on hold.

"Hey, hey, hurry it up!" a clipped voice snapped at them and June recognized it too. "We gotta get out of the open, don't we?"

What had the world turned into, when it was Miko that acted as a voice of reason?

June disentangled halfway from Jack and reached, despite the pain of moving that arm, to tug the other teen into their hug.

"N-wha-"

Miko's protests turned into token grumbles muttered into the side of June's arm. The cut beneath the teen's crushed face pulsed in angry pain but the nurse made herself ignore it.

Then Jack was tugging on them both.

"Let's go!" he said with a cracked voice. This time, June let him lead her away. They ran through the chaos until they found a mostly stable looking building. From here, the three humans looked at the madness outside.

And it was from here that they noticed-

There was a red-opticed decepticon out there, fighting off hordes of insecticons. She recognized him from the stories brought back to base. Dreadwing. The con who liked to fight with bombs.

And he was using those bombs now. Their flashing lights were attached to many of the battling insecticons. Dreadwing shoved the current warrior away and pulled something that looked oddly like an old flip phone from his side.

A remote. His thumb went over it but before he could press the command to the bombs he'd been sticking around, a new insecticon leaped onto his back. The con crashed down to the ground and the floor beneath them rumbled. June lost her balance and leaned against her son momentarily.

All three humans saw it. It was frozen in her vision, fried into June's disoriented mind. Too important to look away from. Too important to ignore.

Laying on the ground only some short distance away.

The remote.

They stumbled out of cover to approach it. This could be the exact edge the bots needed. This could kill who knew how many of the insecticons that Dreadwing had managed to attach a bomb to.

Airachnid could lose. June really, really wanted Airachnid to lose. To lose _lose_ die and never hurt again, not her, not her son, not Arcee, not anyone-

But as soon as she stood over the device, her hand hovering over the large control that no doubt would set the chain explosions off, June's dizzy mind had another thought.

She was a nurse.

A nurse. She'd taken the Practical Nurse Pledge.

And insecticons were sentient. She'd seen enough of that in the eternity spent in Airachnid's cave. They were far from the smartest of people and far from independent, but they were alive.

She was not supposed to inflict harm.

Harm, harm, _do no harm_

June wavered momentarily.

And in the pause, Miko pushed her undecided hand aside and pressed the trigger.


	33. Hotel California

"You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave."

_AN- Title and summary belong to the Eagles, not to me._

_I'm not adapting everything (or even the majority) from the aligned games or novels because how many contradictions they have with each other and TFP/RID_

* * *

_"All hail Starscream!"_

Oh, what a delight to hear!

But why was he hearing it?

Starscream had the distinct feeling he _wasn't_ hearing it. Not in person. He was observing. Well, this sort of celebration was quite often imagined. Perhaps...but no. He had heard this. The cry of the vehicons, the prompts he threw back.

He even heard those prompting _"I can't hear you"_'s being tossed by him to the crowd.

They just weren't emanating from his mouth.

So...Starscream grew curious only for a moment.

Then a distinct pedestep echoed around this strange landscape and he spun down to face the exact person he did not want to.

How?

"Wh-what?" he pointed his missile at the unflinching face. Strange. Hadn't he used up his missiles?

What sort of concern was that? Knock Out would replace any lost missiles...Knock Out? That grounder? He wasn't on the _Nemesis_ yet.

..._yet_?

Something very odd was going on here.

Deja vu, the presence of Megatron, and the words being spoken by him from some other Starscream standing on the bridge made the illusion break down.

Because an illusion was all it had been. A flux, a memory, a vision. Now the dreamlike blindness ended. Starscream became aware of everything.

Being ambushed on the _Harbinger_. Being dragged away from his base of operations- Megatron, unspeaking still. Soundwave, picking up the Apex Armor and opening a groundbridge. The creation of the bridge had brought his stunned functions back and Starscream had started struggling. No matter how many swipes he took at the warlord's arm, that massive servo would not release him.

To his surprise, they didn't arrive on the bridge of the _Nemesis_. The seeker would have assumed that they would be there, where the cameras were situated and the vehicons could watch what had to be an execution.

They arrived at the medbay instead. Starscream recognized it from what he could see through the gaps in Megatron's fingers.

"Knock Out!" he yelled. "Knock Out, come rescue me, you ungrateful little-"

Before he could finish his half insulted/half desperate sentence, he was shoved up against a berth and the cuffs slid into place.

All of this seemed rather odd for a murder, his rational brain had to admit.

The panicking side of him had no time for such wonderings.

On a berth nearby, Megatron stomped over and lay back.

The rational side thought that was rather important too.

Soundwave was standing by the wall without any sort of revealing expression. And instead of Knock Out, some vehicon was walking behind his berth.

Oh, right. If Breakdown had been working with the Prime in the antarctic, the mad doctor was as well. Starscream had forgotten that tidbit of information in his panic.

Wait.

A vehicon?

Trying to clip something onto the back of his helm?

_I'm no expert with this thing, but I hear one slip up can fry a neural net_

Perhaps Shockwave was, loathe as he was to admit, capable of using the cortical psychic patch without doing so, but some untrained drone?

The seeker had tried to fling himself up against the bindings but an unwavering servo grabbed his head, pushed it back gently into the reach of the cable, and then-

And then he was here.

Reliving memories.

With the unfortunate side effect being that Megatron was here too.

Ehe. He tried for a nervous smile.

"You're inside my head, aren't you."

The other didn't match the expression of innocence.

Enough of this. Starscream made a pointless shuffle back and flexed claws he knew didn't truly exist here in the mindscape.

"Why play around?" he snarled. "Why are we here?"

The blank expression seared on Megatron's face reminded the seeker far too much of the cave.

Staring at him with the rock heaved down, down, _down_

And he'd begged and hoped with all his spark, in the moment of emergency, to be rescued while the earth above crushed downward. It had taken all that before the warlord had broke his blank expression to smile.

Was that what Megatron wanted now?

The bridge of the warship faded into gray. A light was somewhere above them but it revealed no features of their new surroundings. Only those features on the two of them were shown.

This felt far more threatening than facing down Megatron in a memory. At least there he'd been surrounded by others.

The warlord leaned down ever so slightly. Starscream felt his knees beginning to buckle and sent furious commands to their systems to halt the instinct.

"I have a theory, Starscream," Megatron said.

Cold, just like that of the arctic, froze down his backstruts. It was nothing but a physiological reaction. One Starscream was unfortunately familiar with.

It precluded the short words of wisdom his processor shot to him.

_Run. Grovel. Fight. Run._

Really, it would be nice if his processor could at least agree with itself.

"Erm..." he tried, stepped back again. The light above them remained centered exactly overhead no matter if he moved. It made for the disconcerting feeling that he hadn't moved at all.

"A theory," the warlord leaned down, "regarding where your _true_ loyalties lie."

There was no conscious decision to make the memories move once more. Starscream watched them happen without being able to direct which incidents appeared and which did not.

As someone scientifically minded, he had long before read Shockwave's reports on the cortical psychic patch. It operated on two fronts; the biological and the psychological. Obviously, the patch targeted a mech's biology by 'patch'ing into a neural net. But the technology was still influenceable.

If he was skilled enough at it, Starscream would be able to influence the patch. He could force the tables over and pull through Megatron's memories instead. He could-

But he couldn't. Starscream hadn't ever had the time to play around with such cognitive training and, besides that, he just happened to hate the patch. The very idea made his plating tight.

It seemed the warlord had no such qualms. A part of him wasn't even surprised to discover that Megatron had, in fact, read those same manuals and quite possibly even trained with it. Wasn't that how he had escaped his near-death state after the space bridge incident anyways?

As if summoned by those thoughts, the mindscape moved to the space bridge remains. Debris, hovering in space. His master's body among such trash.

If only it had stayed there.

The Starscream of the memory crawled atop the dying warlord, pulling the dark energon free and kicking the helpless body aside with a taunt.

The Starscream of the present decided he hated the cortical psychic patch and its accursed creator.

He barely made himself turn away from the memory to look at his former master.

"My...loyalties?" he tried slowly. "Why, to-to you, of course! My-"

It sounded just as fake to say as it no doubt did to hear.

"Quiet," Megatron growled and the seeker obeyed without question. "Do not try to lie to me. I am here to determine the answer to my theory through your actions, your very thoughts, and not what lies you've always told me."

Flashes of Cybertron slid around them. The old institute. The gladiatorial arenas where he, as a high ranking citizen of Vos, got prime seating to watch as the infamous Megatronus tore some organic beast apart. The returning cycles at his tower reading the radical, beautiful proposals and speeches of Megatron of Kaon, as prescribed by some archivist named Orion Pax.

The current Megatron's face had softened watching those moments of old.

But those cycles were long past. They both had to know how such awe and idolizing long ago faded into a hatred they both shared.

Then it was Earth. Optimus was telling him to "turn" from Megatron's path. Then the _Nemesis_, where Starscream was screaming at Knock Out to address him with his proper title.

_"All hail Starscream"_ the vehicons chanted passionlessly. _"All hail Starscream."_

They'd never believed in him. They'd never truly accepted that he was the leader of the decepticons. Not even Knock Out, the one who was attempting to join him in leading the decepticons of Earth, had ever looked at him with respect and adoration and fear.

Anxiety, maybe, when he'd carved lines through the medic's perfect paint, but not true terror.

The lack of that emotional trio should have let Starscream know the truth long before Megatron had returned to life and beat it into him: he would never be the leader they desired.

But-But-all this was why he had left, frag it! Why drag him back now? Why drag him back to the cortical psychic patch rather than termination or a more typical trouncing?

Somewhere behind him, Megatron let out a long chuckle.

"A word of advice?" he laughed, "Stop thinking out loud."

Scrap, had he said all that? Starscream looked behind him at the monster and broke into that nervous grin once again.

"Master," the seeker tried, "What _is_ this about?"

One massive arm waved out over their surroundings. He danced back away from its reach, although the gesture was far from touching him.

"To see where your allegiances lay. What interesting answers I seem to be getting..." Megatron mused, looking back out at another scene during his stasis. "You deem yourself more capable of leading the decepticons than I am?"

It was-

It was not a question.

But it still demanded an answer.

"Wh-no! You misread me-"

The dreamscape changed again. Starscream was prowling proudly in front of his clones.

_"Esteemed members of my armada,"_ he began to perorate, _"You now stand upon the very precipice of glory. To meet the destiny which I have so tenaciously worked towards!"_

Instead of being allowed to continue his grand speech, one of the clones interrupted him._ "Dynamic leadership of the decepticons!"_ it had declared.

No matter how insulting being cut off was, the sentence was proof that they were him.

They were one, thought as one, dreamed as one- and that was the destiny he had longed for.

_"As long as their master remains in limbo, so does their cause."_ He told to a smug Knock Out in the medbay. _"The decepticons deserve a strong, alert leader."_

Strong as he physically was, the warlord on the berth was not that leader.

Not anymore.

After realizing, however slowly the discovery took to dawn on him, that Megatron was no longer the masterful leader he had started as, the army had started their collapse. As a lieutenant, although not yet the first lieutenant, Starscream had done his best to keep it together.

And he determined he could do it better than Megatron could. The war had driven his master mad. Or maybe he always had been; even when he was the inspiring gladiator speaking from the arena floor about a world so much more fair and wonderful than the horrid state they lay in then.

How absolutely **infuriating** that this instability was exactly what the decepticons wanted. No matter how he tried to lead them, they disrespected his rule and waited for Megatron to return again.

Every. Single. Time.

Even though Megatron was the type to toss them all aside. Wasn't he proof of that?

Was he?

This was, after all, the opposite of being tossed aside. This was being dragged back.

For death? For agony?

...For a place in the army again?

Now he was trying to pitch a coup idea to Airachnid. She failed just as badly as Knock Out had, although in a far different way. From that cave came Skyquake's grave; dark energon in his servo and broken aside.

_Wait! Lord Megatron! Not your spark chamber! You do not know what it will do!_

Symbiosis. Wonderful, addicting, sickening symbiosis. How thrilling it had been to feel someone so tied to his spark, so unable to disobey him-

And how easily he had ripped the dark energon back out of his spark only moments later.

That was not how he wanted his army. That wasn't how he wanted himself.

With the dark claws of something else looming over his frame always.

It was bad enough having to live under Megatron. Whatever it was waiting for him to slip up while he had dark energon in his spark chamber?

"Loyalty." Megatron spat, reminding Starscream that the warlord was there. The gray mech stood over him, casting him in shadow.

Always that same spiky, dangerous, comfortingly familiar shadow that he despised so thoroughly.

"Your every waking impulse has been to thwart me! Undercut me! Overthrow me!"

Oh ho? Was that so? Sure, _sure_; when he'd so far as told Soundwave that he accepted his place underneath Megatron, that was just unarguably him trying to undercut the warlord!

There was a flash of rage from his mental companion. The seeker's wings sank down.

"...I...I said that too, didn't I?"

Enough of this. Though he was far from hoping to expedite his own death, Starscream didn't like to prolong anticipation either. He made his wings flare up in righteous anger.

"I'm done!" he tried to growl, though it sounded weak, like a whimper, to his audials. "I don't want to play this game anymore!"

He didn't even know what the game was, frag it! If he had no access to the rules, how was he expected to manipulate any sort of favorable outcome from this?

"We stop when I say we do," Megatron denied him.

But of course. Oh, of course. Always on his time, always at his pace-

"Stop what? Stop _what_?" Starscream asked frantically. "What purpose do you have? What is it you're hoping to do here?"

Besides humiliating him? So far as he remembered, and he was sure he'd never forget it, that was what the warlord like to do.

Megatron let out a sigh. The memories around them returned to the gray of neutrality.

Or the gray of the dead, if he thought of it that way. Starscream preferred not to. He really, really did not want to die in his own processor (or at all).

"In the past, you have been an asset to the decepticons. While your loyalty has never been to me-"

Another set of memories wherein Starscream tried to get their leader's life support turned off backed this claim up nicely.

"-your goals have never seemed to be to destroy this army. Just...to give them the 'dynamic leadership' that they 'deserve', wasn't it?"

Starscream sneered.

"Perhaps in the past," he waved and the memories blew away. "But I am not welcome in the decepticon army anymore- or did your new pet Dreadwing tell me wrong?"

He shouldn't be sneering. He really shouldn't be taunting.

But he did have the habit of saying too much and then falling pointlessly into praise as if that could cover up the earlier hostilities.

"No one asked you to leave the decepticon fold," Megatron argued.

Oh, hah! That was a joke.

Maybe he wasn't actually here at all. Maybe his energon deficiency had left him hallucinating, because this entire situation was _just too laughable._

"I wasn't exactly made to feel welcome at the time," he shot back.

This time, the dreamscape moved to support his sentence rather than one of Megatron's.

That fusion cannon causing his face plates to sear in heat as it pointed uncaringly at him in the cave. Soundwave's unmoved visor recording him as he said he'd learned his place...only for their master to toss him aside in favor of Airachnid. Airachnid! A proven traitor!

The irony of that was not lost on him, but Starscream also refused to humor it.

The agony of each clone as it fell to that same threatening cannon. The pede crushing him down to the floor of the _Nemesis_ just because he had the '_audacity_' to try to kill Optimus Prime and end the war. The threats and hits and growls over the vorns.

To no surprise of his own, Megatron did not seem moved by the collage of pain and fear.

It made Starscream want so badly to kill him.

But he did not seem amused or gleeful to see the memories either.

And that made Starscream want so badly just to see a bit of regret on those scarred faceplates.

Just one ounce would be enough.

It'd drive him to his knees in relief. Devotion.

"What about now?" the warlord asked rather than showing either of the expressions Starscream half-hoped to see.

Anything was better than this unreadable limbo.

"What. What do you mean?" he blinked.

Flaring red optics looked away from the memories and locked on him.

On _him_, not _his_ optics.

Megatron could see right through him and somehow never saw him at all.

"Are you ready to give up on your play at independence?"

Starscream considered his 'base' of operations. One half of a run down ship without any energon in its stores. No company to hurt or comforts. No safety but no master.

"You..."

What was he supposed to think? '_Ready_'? Megatron acted like he was a sparkling, leaving his tower too early and being picked up by the watch and carried back to his carriers. It made him bristle.

"...you want me back?"

So why did his voice go so small?

Why did he say that instead of an insult?

The expression on the warlord's face was guarded. Starscream couldn't tell if he'd seen a flash of disgust or if that was his imagination.

"The decepticons do need capable soldiers. Not a leader or one who would waste his waking hours trying to be that unneeded leader. But officers, fighters, scientists, strategists- we have lost more recruits than we have gained. We face not only our autobot enemies, but scavenging rogues as well. Would you rather be one of us, or one of them?" Megatron frowned. "These rogues do not work together. They are alone with enemies everywhere. Is that truly what you want for yourself?"

But-

_But-_

"I'm not-I'm not...I threw you all away. I can't-I'm n-"

Why couldn't they have stayed gone?

Why couldn't he have stayed gone?

"You are far from ideal," the warlord waved him off and Starscream's wings hiked up, this time without his consent.

"F-fa-r f-from ideal?" he stuttered. "Excuse me?"

The bigger mech shook his head. "You were not even the greatest lieutenant I had ever had watch my side. A side effect, I'm afraid, of your tendency to try to stab that same side rather than guard it."

Oh, like that wasn't the sort of dynamic all decepticons had.

As if they weren't always turning on eachother and stabbing each other in the back after promising to protect it and fighting for Megatron's attention.

It was undoubtedly better here on Earth than the chaos had been at the height of the war, but still.

"I'm sure even your _beloved_," the seeker curled his lip. As if any lieutenant of Megatron's could be beloved. As if any of them could be valued more than he, the longest running second in command, had been (which, apparently, was not at all) -"Dreadwing isn't perfect."

And there Megatron's expression softened.

"No one is perfect, Starscream."

The oddly gentle tone made the smaller mech wilt down on himself.

"But-"

Of course there would be a 'but'. Of course any attempt at reassurance would come with a clause.

"-like his departed twin, Dreadwing understands honor."

Irritated once more, Starscream lost his subdued air and snorted again.

"Of what use is honor?" he jeered and the gray around them changed into memory. Skyquake, falling aflame to the ground where he made his fatal impact. Skyquake, rising again to Starscream's commands.

_"So quick to reject my authority while you lived"_, he had said. They always rejected his authority. If not for the unnerving sensations dark energon brought him, the substance could have tempted him to awaken more dead warriors. How amusing it would have been to revive all those who had mocked him over his subservience to Megatron in life and watch their undead minds obey his every whim.

"Honor led him to his death," Starscream pointed at the memory of Skyquake as the dreamscape changed back to the green seeker falling to his demise. "And it no doubt will lead good little soldier Dreadwing to his as well."

Despite what he expected as a reaction to those words, he heard Megatron laugh.

"Indeed." Sharp dentae flashed, but it was not in threat. It was amusement. It was agreeance. It was pride. "Honor is a silly concept. Not even Optimus adheres to it anymore."

Wait, wh-

Questions for another time, it seemed, since Megatron did not pause to elaborate on that odd statement.

"I need someone who is willing to be cunning. Someone willing to lure in enemies and then indulge his penchant for treachery by tearing them apart. Someone who is not held back by the codes and morals that those like Dreadwing and even Soundwave are. Someone," he turned to the seeker, "like _you_."

Starscream's mouth gaped open without word.

"Well, Starscream?" his former master extended a servo and let it hang there. "Will you join us again? Will you provide the decepticons you believe in their edge towards victory?"

A part of him wondered briefly how real this offer even was. Wondered what would happen to him if he did say no.

But not even Megatron needed to know what would be done in that scenario.

Because they both knew it would never occur.

Not now.

While half his decision to gingerly take the servo was in fear that his refusal would get him killed, the rest was delusioned delight that _Megatron himself_ had _come_ to _him_ to beg for _his return._

"R..." he murmured nervously, "Really? This wasn't a trap? You aren't going to kill me?"

The servo folded closed over his and tugged him upright. Such dangerously sized appendages. So able to crush him. So able to hurt.

It did not squeeze tight enough for any hurt.

"You are more valuable besides me than against me," Megatron said and all Starscream heard was those words that mattered most.

Valuable to him- not as a person, but as a commodity, as a game piece.

But frag if being a vital game piece did not feel far better than living alone without resources or direction or validation of any kind.

"Infighting has nearly destroyed the Decepticons during your absence. We must operate as a united front if we are to win the war for Cybertron."

And, just like he had when he had been vorns younger and flew to join the new faction on their planet, Starscream found himself forgetting the planet was dead in favor of believing they, together, could win it.

* * *

_AN- In some ways, the Megatron and Starscream of this fic are a bit like the Knock Out and Breakdown of it; possessive and dependent messes respectively. Just on steroids._


	34. StealthyStealthy

The fighting continues; as does Knock Out and Smokescreen's brave stupidity

* * *

Another insecticon tried to beat him in brute force. Breakdown crushed through its head to prove that attempt was rather futile.

Or it should have been.

But these were the strongest vermin on Cybertron. Sure, scraplets were the worst, but insecticons could match Megatron in a battle of physical strength.

And Breakdown didn't have to feel bad admitting that he couldn't match his former boss.

Lifting his hammer, the mech looked around the chaotic battlefield. All these stupid human buildings everywhere were tripping hazards and only made this whole thing harder. Not that he was adverse to a tough fight! Still, he'd come mainly hoping to smash more M.E.C.H. guys into paste and found out Dreadwing had beat him to it. Instead of frying humans, he was dealing with Airachnid and all her insecticons.

There were so many of them. Why did the vermin even make it to Earth in the first place?

The boss was busy fighting off three, and Airachnid herself, right now. Somewhere on level with the trashed up warehouses, that gutsy human was still shooting at insecticons (and thankfully hadn't hit any of his allies with those Tox-En shards). A few lucky shots landed on helms or cut through visors and the toxins took the big guys down.

If anything, the fact that the fleshy could hold his own in a fight like this only made Breakdown more and more certain that he knew the guy; he reminded him of one of his troops.

Despite being much smaller than any of the insecticons he was up against, Wheeljack was hopping from bug to bug cutting through their vital systems. Ratchet was using his short blades to fend of insecticons, but they were hardly injuring any of them. Arcee was shooting down those bugs that went airborne. Bumblebee was flickering around the battlefield too fast to bother trying to keep up with.

All that to say, there was a whole lot going on and it didn't show signs of slowing down. Another insecticon tried to fly at him and Breakdown shot it down. The gun on his shoulder was far from his ideal weapon, but he wasn't adverse to using it if he had to. And besides, against these guys it really was the better type of weapon.

Another insecticon tried to leap on him. Since this one jumped him from the back, it worked. Breakdown crashed down face first and felt his paint scratch off against the concrete. Something pounded down on one spoiler and he felt internal mechanisms snapping before he'd even gotten his head back in the game to toss the bot off. Before he had time to, the insecticon rolled off. The blue mech lifted his head up first and saw the bug leaning against the foot of a warehouse curling in over a blaster wound. A few meters away, Bulkhead looked from the insecticon to him and offered a shrug.

"I've got your back."

The curled insecticon struggled back to its pedes despite the injury and tried to charge again. Another shot from the green wrecker kept it down.

Slagging insecticons were such a pain. And the warrior types were nothing compared to their queen. How it was that Airachnid hadn't managed to be killed was lost on him. He'd cornered her the woods and almost died even though she was the one injured. Her durability just wasn't fair.

Speaking of-

He looked over to where Optimus and Ratchet were trying to fight the femme. If it wasn't for all the insecticon shields she kept throwing up between them and her, she'd probably be dead by now. Please, could she just die? It would be so nice.

_Stuck in Airachnid's webbing while she crawled closer, pulling her servos along almost intimately while they left behind a trail of agonizing green acid-_

_I thought you wanted to get me alone. Why so scared, big guy-_

No more bad fluxes, no more disgustingly weak fear.

...but that wasn't true, was it? Or else Silas would have stopped bothering him after Breakdown had killed him. Granted, at the least he had someone to talk to about the bad fluxes these days. Someone who wasn't just a vehicon that ended up dying before they ever got a chance to respond to his story.

It was kinda funny actually. He still didn't want their dumb looking badge and hadn't bothered to touch the rules and regulations files Knock Out kept in the little shelf in their room. But he was still looking over the battlefield in worry that something bad would happen to one of these bots.

He'd gotten attached. Breakdown wasn't meant to be alone. He still felt the phantom gestalt pretending to be the real one he'd worked hard to sever from his spark; the ghostly need to belong in a unit.

Currently, he was good with not 'belonging' with this unit- but he still wanted them to stay alive. Weird, that.

Another bug dove down from the sky. Before Breakdown could shoot it down, it rent itself into seared metal shapes and crashed to the ground in flames.

What?

Around the compound, other insecticons burned similarly.

If anything, the widespread combustion only made him more confused.

* * *

The last time he'd held the immobilizer had been during that Unicron/Terrorcon fiasco. It had been the perfect instrument for his change. Breaking it over Starscream's head and hoping that would prove to the bots that he was done with having a con as his boss had been a metaphor, really. And it had worked to- he'd been able to seamlessly integrate himself with the team...well, during the duration of that emergency at least. Soon as Optimus was gone and there wasn't a battle going on, Knock Out had noticed himself sticking out from the team a whole lot more.

But they'd let him stay.

They'd let him _in_. And even after Cybertron decided it wanted nothing to do with Team Prime, he'd stayed. Really, it would have been easy to break the metaphorical immobilizer again. Just scrape off the brand and voila! Just an average neutral living an average happy life on the planet, nothing to see here. No need to be fired from any more jobs or treated like a security risk.

_Why'd you do it, Knock Out?_

Or rather, why _hadn't_ he done it?

There was no escaping the stares. The former autobots and many neutrals felt by his look he had been a decepticon and gave him a suspicious berth. Former cons recognized him and hated him for what he'd done at the end of the war.

To all of them, he was a coward.

But to himself, he was just a mech who'd realized he needed to throw his cards in for one team instead of flipflopping.

He'd tossed in his cards when he'd broken the immobilizer. Even if Cybertron was giving him multiple opportunities to change his mind, Knock Out wasn't going to.

All that philosophy aside, the weapon was pretty comfortable in his servo. Sure, it was no phase shifter. That was his favorite of all the relics (that force field generator had been fun, but Bulkhead had seen to breaking it fast). But it wasn't bad; while the phase shifter kept him from getting scratched by making him impossible to touch, the immobilizer wouldn't let anyone get close enough to hurt him anyways.

Or at least he hoped so. Otherwise heading back into the depths of the _Nemesis_ was going to end with his parts strewn around everywhere. Knock Out was no Starscream; if Megatron found him, he wasn't about to be given any sort of second chance.

Oh well. Smokescreen had managed that one time, hadn't he? Nabbed the omega keys, including the one in the Big M's servo, and hopped straight off the warship. Hopefully the Smokescreen of this timeline would be able to tap into some of that incredulous luck.

The two of them crept forward down purple hallways that Knock Out did not miss. At least after the war had ended, they'd made this place look lively. Who knew graffiti could make such a difference in the suffocating feel of these halls?

"So-"

Smokescreen's whisper still sounded a bit too loud. Although the medic supposed a little whisper was fine; honestly, Soundwave would probably notice them just because their very noticeable figures were prowling in his ship without ever needing to hear them speak.

"Where do we go?"

Well, unless the decepticons had radically changed the layout of their ship, he would say only a few halls down from here. That human child was a genius, getting them so close all based on some tracking schematics from various squishy militaries. Kudos to them, or rather to Raf. No wonder Bumblebee could never shut up about the kid for so long after leaving Earth behind. At least, before he'd stopped using his voice to speak nearly as much as he had at the start. The yellow mech had grown positively withdrawn by the last time Knock Out saw him; sometime before he'd disappeared to Earth once more and everything had fallen apart for the medic on Cybertron.

Meh. He really needed to stop reminiscing while they were doing this.

"Most likely the main storage area," he whispered back. "That's where Breakdown and I left the forge last tim-um...that's where it was last I checked. The others should be there too."

Smokescren grew one of those big, ridiculously rookie smiles that only those still positive they would always be untouchable wore.

"Let's get in there then," he said, bouncing on his pedes a bit.

"Wait!" Knock Out grabbed his arm when the rookie tried to take off. At the confusion Smokescreen tossed back at him, the medic elaborated. "If we see one glimpse of Soundwave, let alone the Big M, I'm ditching this plan. With or without you; got it?"

The younger autobot snerked. "'K, coward."

Obviously the kid had no experience with the decepticon 3IC. Apprehension wasn't cowardiceness, it was realism.

They started off down the purple halls in a manner both could only describe as 'stealthy'.

The storage units were held at the far end of the warship, past the officer quarters, door to the bridge, and his old medbay. Knock Out couldn't help but pause outside that room to gaze at it wistfully.

Rather than his vision being met with a closed door as expected, someone had left the medbay open. And occupied. Knock Out spied his former boss laying lifeless on one berth and the mech he'd once considered a friend twitching on the other.

They both took one long look and then glanced at each other. Smokescreen gave a shiver

"No, thank you."

They crept away from the scene in the medbay quickly. No need to touch that madness.

It felt like his nervousness was at its peak by the time they finally got to storage without _anyone interrupting them._ Sure, the warlord and Starscream, who was apparently back, were both preoccupied, but what about Dreadwing? The vehicons? Soundwave?

The lack of danger was just uncanny.

When they did make it to their destination, Knock Out shifted the immobilizer to one servo and tried to key the doors open.

They refused to open. Oh, for the love of-

"Here." He glanced to his side and saw Smokescreen's open servo. "I'll get us both in," the kid finished saying.

Well, seeing as he did have that same phase shifter that had once let them both slip through a wall (or _almost_ slip through, in his case), their odds did seem better with his method. Knock Out apted to grab the rookie's arm and waited for the smaller mech to slip them both through the door.

At the least, he didn't have to worry about being stuck in the wall this time.

On the other side lay the few Iacon relics the decepticons had managed to drag up. The forge was joined by the small resonance blaster and the hulking resting state of the Apex Armor.

He couldn't help but let out an impressed whistle.

"Jackpot."

Oh, the war would be finished a month sooner with these goodies!

"Right?" Smokescreen grinned again, "It was a pretty good plan to grab these."

Primus, did he look this stupid when he fished for compliments?

The kid went straight for the forge and then tried to shake it off casually when his first attempt to heft it up failed; that thing's size wasn't just for show. Rather than lose his own mobility, Knock Out left Smokescreen with the forge and picked up the resonance blaster. The Apex Armor was shoved up under one arm afterwards. Oh, Soundwave and Starscream were going to pitch little fits to find out their toys were gone. That imagery, however unlikely for at least one of the mechs, made him far more amused than he should have been.

By the time he was done, the rookie had a good grip on the forge.

Knock Out grabbed Smokescreen again, though this time it was far harder with all the relics they were trying to carry, and the two phased back through the door.

It wouldn't have come as a shock to him to hear his spark well and truly stalled at the sight of Soundwave waiting motionless in the hall.

* * *

With the activation of Dreadwing's grenades, the insecticons lost their edge in the fight. Their numbers dropped instantly from 'swarming' to 'manageable'. And once manageable, the group of temporary allies quickly gained the upper hand.

Unfortunately, that was obvious not just to them.

A shot of webbing flung into Optimus's gun barrel and stuck in trails to the ground behind him. His other servo changed from a canon to a blade and sliced through the web without hindrance.

But it wasn't meant to be debilitating. It was meant to distract.

While he had looked away, Airachnid had sprung back and landed behind the ruined human fence. She looked around her enemies- both those moving towards her and those that were still fighting off insecticons- and seemed to make an instant decision.

Optimus could read a retreat easily. He jolted forward to reach the rogue too slowly.

"I won't forget you broke my trade," Airacnid gave a cocky, if enraged, smirk. "I'll just have to pay darling June another visit and this time I won't rely on good faith from you. Ta ta, autobots-" she blew a mocking kiss and then drilled into the ground beneath her. Before any of the smaller bots that would fit could think of following, an insecticon crashed down over the tunnel entrance and screeched.

By the time it was dead and moved, the femme was long gone.

It left no satisfaction. There was no victory in arriving to defeat M.E.C.H. and finding Dreadwing in a state that only seemed to herald further instability. Keeping June safe was a victory that should have outweighed the defeat Airachnid's escape was but...

But the rogue's survival worried Optimus. Loathe as he was to kill an enemy, he could foresee nothing good coming from her continued life.

The night was far from satisfying. And the Prime resisted losing his cool. The others needed to see his strength, his determination and hope.

He looked out over his autobots, the humans that were reuniting with agent Fowler and huddling together, and the bloodstained Dreadwing.

They all needed it.


	35. In Reminiscences Of Sanity

Arcee has too much time to think.  
Oh, and the idiots on the Nemesis get to realize they didn't devote enough time to thinking.

_AN- Slight warning for an implied mention of suicide-by-purposeful-risks._

* * *

There really were only a few appropriate responses to this scenario.

Wordlessly, Knock Out and Smokescreen seemed to decide on Wild Panic as their reaction and then proceeded to do just that.

"Oh-OH-"

"PRIMUS, he's just _standing_ there! What'd we do? What'dwedo?"

"We're fragged, we're fragged, we're-"

_"Slaaag-"_

It was embarrassing, really. And there was zero doubt that their entire embarrassing outburst was forever recorded. Who knew what Soundwave did with all the potential blackmail he had.

That wasn't really important in the moment.

Finally, Knock Out managed to get his processor working on doing something other than cussing and replaying the memory of when the silent con had handed Airachnid her aft in front of everyone.

"What'd we do?" Smokescreen asked again, trying to balance the forge and get his servos into weapon mode without dropping the thing. "Shoot him?"

Good enough plan. Knock Out pointed the immobilizer and triggered it.

The blue streak of light was absorbed into the center of a groundbridge that tore open only a nano after he'd started to fire the thing. The green vortex disappeared, taking the relic's shot with it. Behind where the bridge had just been, Soundwave let his head fall ever so slightly to one side. It was the first movement he'd made.

Ugh- Knock Out shivered. Uncanny.

_Watch out for the quiet ones-_

"Slag," he repeated the rookies earlier comment with wide optics.

Laserbeak disconnected with a whine from Soundwave. Scrap, that's what he'd done in the fight with Airachnid too, wasn't it? The medic didn't want to stay to find out. He tried to fire the immobilizer again, almost dropping the Apex Armor while he was at it; the con just bent away from the beam. How was he so good at this whole dodging business? Was Knock Out really telegraphing that badly?

...he probably was. Soundwave was notorious for reading bots; both their verbal and nonverbal cues.

So they'd need to do something unexpected; something that all Knock Out's time with the decepticons wouldn't give away.

"I've got this!" Smokescreen yelled in the sort of excitement signalling he'd just had another stupid plan.

The medic cast the briefest of glances to rookie and then chucked the Apex Armor at the con in the hallway to force the mech to break concentration and grab it. Then Smokescreen was grabbing him with two fingers he'd let off the handle of the forge and tugging them both _through_ Soundwave.

Oh. Primus. That was not something he ever wanted to do again. Going through walls and doors and bots cuffed on berths were all far preferable to running through a mech that made Knock Out's plating crawl.

He glanced behind them to see Soundwave holding the armor, his upper body twisted 180 degrees to look at them.

If a blank, reflective visor could portray emotion, it seemed to currently be rage.

Above them, Laserbeak was flying, trying to hound their incorporeal selves.

If it wouldn't feel like tempting fate, Knock Out would probably be taunting.

"What now, genius?" he yelled at his companion instead after they slid into a separate room.

"I don't know!" Smokescreen shot back. "You're the one who knows this ship!"

Oh, so _now_ he wouldn't take the credit for this _misadventure_. He saw how it was.

"Kid? Raf?"

"He can't hear us!" Knock Out interrupted. "The _Nemesis_ is shielded from communications unless they come from one of the con terminals."

Smokescreen pulled up short. Around them, the warships intruder alerts system was ringing incessantly.

"Wait, really?" the younger mech asked.

It took effort to resist rolling his optics. Effort Knock Out didn't bother to put in.

The panic had turned into another look of scheming enthusiasm.

"I got it then!" he proclaimed.

The next moment and both the two of them and the stolen relics were falling through the _Nemesis_ and into the sky below.

* * *

When the last insecticon fell dead, the compound was engulfed by horrid silence. The autobots filtered closer to Optimus, giving Dreadwing a wary berth. The seeker still had his sword out, the tip resting atop a broken slab of concrete. The ground was stained with energon from Airachnid's hoards, fluids spilled from M.E.C.H.'s tankards, and even the occasional sign of blood.

Arcee went to find June immediately. The woman wasn't in the building the two-wheeler had dumped her in, which was probably a good thing since that shelter was completely totaled now. She wasn't with Fowler; as became evident when she found out he was also moving through the compound away from Optimus. The human agent noticed her and tapped her pede with his gun.

"Hey, you-" he looked up at her and she looked back. "Care to give me a lift?"

"I'm looking for June," Arcee said.

His shoulders jerked once in amusement.

"What'd you think I'm doing?" Fowler asked rhetorically.

Good enough for her. She picked up her new load and kept moving over the scrapped base gingerly.

The place had already looked like a wreck when they'd first shown up. Now, after the bombardment of insecticons, it was basically a scrapheap. If somewhere in this mess the humans had been hurt then...

_Then what?_ a part of Arcee snapped at herself. _What_, exactly, _would_ she do?

After Tailgate, she'd gone on increasingly dangerous solo missions; ones a part of her hoped each time would be the last.

After Cliff, she'd planned to drive until it was impossible to keep burning her treads. Jack had interrupted that plan.

After Tailgate, she'd tried so hard to forget everything that had happened in that interrogation room.

After Cliff, she'd fell into the idea of revenge instead of running.

And then Airachnid had landed into her life again. She'd forced Arcee to look back and collapse in the past; but Jack had made her keep driving forward. Debilitating pain turned into angry vindication. An anger she'd first turned on Starscream when finding out what he'd done and then on Airachnid every time they met each other on the battlefield.

Until the cave.

Until she'd had the other femme on the ground, ready to kill her and end the nightmare, ready to put Tailgate to rest-

Airachnid hadn't looked worried.

She'd looked _ecstatic_.

_When you extinguish my spark, make it hurt-_

_You know I would extend the same courtesy to you_

Did she say it just to psych Arcee out? To trip the two-wheeler up and give herself time to escape? To make Arcee second guess herself every time she moved in for a killing blow and in doing so keep herself alive?

Or did she truly mean for some sort of agony?

Arcee thought it was the former. Airachnid had become very similar to Starscream in her mind; both were incredibly willing to save their own plating and psyching the two-wheeler out had allowed the femme to escape alive. But where she'd stopped herself from killing the seeker, she had only recoiled from the insecticon out of brief disgust at doing exactly what Airachnid wanted. Bumblebee had made her come to her senses with Starscream; the look of horror in his optics made her think of Cliff-

Cliff, with the brightest blue optics she'd seen-

Cliff, casually leaning against the berth she'd trapped Starscream on while she was busying herself with finding the best tool to terrify him-

Cliff, who only liked a fair fight but honestly would rather be friends with someone than kill them-

The shame Bumblebee had made her feel paid off; when Airachnid had been planning on gutting her, it was the damned seeker that got her out of fatal danger. If it was the opposite killer finding Arcee like that? She didn't doubt the insecticon queen would only pretend to honor some deal on keeping her alive long enough for her to start hoping- and then Airachnid would proceed to pull her apart. Or maybe she'd just cut fast.

One clean slice.

A pointed spike, coated with acid, on an extra limb.

Right over her face and chest so that the acid could do its work and crawl down to the spark while energon hit the wall behind her-

Just like Tailgate.

It sickened her, but sometimes Arcee came out of recharge at night hoping, as disgusting as the hope was, that Cliff had gone out quick. She shouldn't be hoping that, thinking that, shouldn't but- but-

Airachnid had fragged with her head all that time ago. Arcee had never gone back to herself. There were thoughts and wishes and growls she never would've let run free in her processor before that now ran rampant.

If Bumblebee looked at her with _that look_ while she was preparing to kill the other femme, Arcee wouldn't stop like she had with Starscream.

She didn't think Cliff would want her to either.

She wanted to think that at least.

So why hadn't she done it? Why hadn't she been able to kill the monster?

Was it all the hopeful pacifism Optimus indulged in? Was it her falling for Airachnid's trap and second guessing her own thirst for revenge? Was it disgust at the idea of giving Airachnid what she wanted?

_make it hurt_

Even remembering the way Airachnid's face lit up with glee saying that made the two-wheeler want to shiver. Sure, she knew the glitch was a sadist. There was a special amount of joy she took in interrogating Arcee and Tailgate that went past professionalism. But she'd never figured the other femme would be so excited at _receiving_ agony. Not that it was inherently fragged up but Arcee didn't want to be the game piece in getting Airachnid her daily kicks. It was worse than being a contributor in helping Miko hit her adrenaline quota.

Knowing how easily the insecticon queen played with people's heads, Arcee still believed it was an attempt to throw her off.

But thinking that didn't make the scene get out of her head.

Much as she wanted to kill Airachnid, she was losing her vengeful vivor.

She wanted the monster dead.

Before, she'd wanted to be the one to do it. She wanted to end it and spit out a 'this is for Tailgate'. She wanted to rest easy at recharge.

Arcee didn't think she wanted to do it anymore.

It was too messy. It would haunt her. It would make her think she'd just played into Airachnid's plans and no amount of second guessing would make those piercing words she'd said in the cave go away.

She hadn't fought Optimus when he'd assigned her a job away from where the fight against the femme would be going on (although it hadn't taken her long to go exactly where she was subtlety told to stay away from; it was too hard to resist when she felt personally responsible for keeping June safe...for keeping _everyone_ Airachnid set her sights on safe).

So if the femme's goal had been to psych her out, she'd succeeded; Arcee had felt distinctly uncomfortable fighting Airachnid closely after the incident in the cave. She still brought out all the fear, all the memories, all the despair- but no longer summoned forth the uncomprehending anger. Not if that's what Airachnid wanted; not if that was what she considered a victory.

But that in no fragging way meant that she'd stand back and let the maniac land a single digit on anyone else.

Seeing those heads in her ship had sent Arcee reeling, spinning, sick-

Seeing Breakdown in pieces on the ground of that forest months ago dredged up more memories of Tailgate; another blue mech torn apart. She hadn't exactly liked the ex-con back then, but it still hurt for her to see. In reaction, Arcee did what she did best while stressed; she attacked the con responsible.

Just like Airachnid to have ruined even that method for coping for her.

So what would she do if somewhere in this wreckage, her humans were crushed by some fallen building or burned by one of the explosions?

Would she run or rage?

Arcee didn't know. She desperately hoped she wouldn't have to find out.

"There!" Fowler interrupted her unsettling reverie and pointed towards the ground.

Scrap, she'd let herself go drifting. She was supposed to be on top of that.

"Ju...Jack? Miko?"

Those IDIOTS. Arcee had heard they'd followed over the comm lines earlier, but it still only sank in when she saw them both. Jack was supporting his mother, who looked like she was leaning heavily on his weight. Miko was trudging a little ways behind them, dragging something far too large for the teen to be trying to move.

"Arcee?" Jack looked up. His face was streaked but it lit up seeing her.

The two-wheeler dropped into a crouch, letting Fowler slip from her servo and run to help the others. The human left his gun behind on the concrete and Arcee picked it up after him; he was next to Jack in a sparkbeat, trying to help the two Darby's back to her waiting servo.

For some reason, Miko was moving slower.

There was something very disconcerting about seeing the girl without her usual energy. It reminded Arcee of how the teen had gotten after Bulkhead's injury.

Sullen, angry, borderline dangerous.

But with an edge of something else this time. And June kept flashing worried glances back at her. The human woman wasn't good at hiding her emotions; she was guilty about something and that something related to the teen trudging wordless.

Not the priority here. Arcee leaned down closer.

"June," she spoke and drew the woman's attention. Scrap, she looked even paler than before. That sweater she favored was wrapped on her arm and stained with something dark. Blood.

At a bit of a loss for how much worry to show vs how much calm, Arcee tried for a tiny smile. "You're looking good."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Arcee," June smiled back. With Fowler and Jack's help, she managed to get on top of the two-wheeler's palm and plopped down to a seated position. Arcee was pretty sure the motion was less voluntary and more a sign of the nurse's exhaustion.

"I thought I told you to stay in cover."

"'Cover' seemed like a relative term at the time," came the reply.

Judging by the state of the building Arcee had chosen, the answer was fair enough.

Finally reaching the others, Miko dropped her weight and climbed up to join them. The usual spunk failed to manifest.

While Fowler started asking June quick health questions (and the nurse picked on how out of practice his emergency protocols were), Arcee looked at the thing the girl had left on the ground.

A complex beacon/activator that looked to be of decepticon origin. The type of device that could be wired to bombs and mines to manually set them off.

In other words, something she was 99% sure belonged to the one con wandering around out there.

"Where did you get that?" she asked with a nod towards the controller.

The three humans clammed up.

It was June that spoke next. "It was...dropped. By the blue guy."

So it was Dreadwing's. Arcee used her free servo to pick the thing up and closed her fist around it and Fowler's gun both.

"Well, if he hasn't already turned on the rest of us, I'll be sure to wrap it up in a bow and give it back." She stood up after the comment and carefully raised the humans to rest against her torso.

Her stride with Fowler when they were searching for the others was brisk, containing franticness.

Her walk back was slow and careful; she had precious cargo in her servo and she dared not ever put that cargo in danger.

Woe be to anyone who tried to do so.

Whether they attempted to psych her out of killing them or not.


	36. Useful Delusions, Useless Truths

Fowler makes a call he never thought he would. Dreadwing's breakdown continues. Two naughty children get grounded (again).

_AN- Title comes from a quote ("We can't save everyone. But that doesn't mean we can't try. Sometimes a useful delusion is better than a useless truth.") in the book The Underground Railroad, which belongs to Colson Whitehead and not me._

* * *

When Arcee returned with the humans, the awkward silence finally broke. Bumblebee surged forward to look at those teammates on her palm, buzzing over them in relief and concern even though he knew that, without Raf here to translate, there was no way for them to know it. Ratchet kept moving as though he would follow suite, but never did. Optimus wished his old friend could feel confident in going where he wanted to; none would fault him for worrying, yet the medic seemed to fault himself for forming attachments to alien life forms still.

Holding a leaking arm, Wheeljack sauntered over to the older medic rather than flock around Arcee like most of the others were. Also holding back was Breakdown, who kept casting glances between the femme and Dreadwing. Optimus wondered if he his glances at Arcee betrayed his own concern for the humans she held; he knew that was unlikely, but wished to believe it regardless.

As expected, the presence of a temporary ally still weighed heavily on the group.

Optimus determined that it needed to be addressed next. Even if it meant another fight would occur, though he hoped one would not.

The seeker was already looking at him when he turned to speak.

"Do not bother, Prime," he growled and all other talk went silent. The sound of multiple weapons priming rang in that silence.

Dreadwing seemed unconcerned with the threats around him. "I will not fight. My mission here, however failed, is complete. I will match blades with you another time."

_Others may betray my master, but I will never turn on him_

_I will terminate you- the both of you- the next time we meet_

Disappointment mixed with a subdued hope; he had promised to kill Optimus and yet allied with him again. The Prime wanted so badly to believe this state of promised hostilities that failed to manifest would continue.

And a part of him knew it would end one day.

Either because Optimus would be forced to put the seeker down or because Megatron would take Dreadwing for granted in a fatal manner- just as he had many other soldiers before.

A part of his knew this and yet he still clung to hope.

Even as he saw the change in Dreadwing's demeanor; a change that could very well truly mean the end of this unspoken truce they'd lived with for the last two encounters.

"I merely must retrieve my communicator and I will be gone. I must report my failure to the _Nemesis_," he dismissed. Still, his sword was out; the tip pressed into cold concrete and stained with the energon of insecticons. He had yet to put his weapon away and ease the autobots tensed minds.

Before Dreadwing could leave, Arcee started to shuffle with something; a moment later and she threw a small device at the seeker. He caught it out of midair and narrowed his gaze. Optimus felt himself tensing up in preparation, instinct worried that the decepticon was making to attack the femme. The worry was for naught. Dreadwing stepped back away from the group and lifted his sword to sheathe it absently.

Too absently. Despite himself, he felt concern welling up.

"Dreadwing," the Prime tried, "Are you certain you should fly?...Certain you should leave thi-"

"I do not require your concern," the seeker growled and finally brought his attention back to the present to glare at Optimus. "Nor do I desire it."

He took another step back (limping, Optimus took unhappy note of) unsteadily before he folded up and tore away into the sky.

With the decepticon gone, the remaining bots and humans seemed to relax. Optimus turned to stare them down.

All of the mechs looked exhausted. The humans seemed paled and dirty.

But all were safe. And that made him smile just a bit behind his battlemask.

"While Airachnid remains alive, we struck a substantial blow against her hive and rescued her hostage without being forced to give up any of her ransom prizes," he addressed them all slowly. "And while M.E.C.H. no doubt has other bases of operations, this one has still been shut down. We must not find ourselves underwhelmed by what victories we attain; for such emotion will only lead to hopelessness and hopelessness will drive us to our ends."

The others mulled over his words in respectful silence, regardless of how more than one no doubt had a complaint to make on the matter. Ratchet especially looked doubtful. Arcee had yet to look away from the humans on her servo.

_"What about the stuff at this facility?"_ Bumblebee asked.

Drawing the rest of their attention, he waved over the compound. _"There's more of those drone things with the red energon containers. I tripped over a few during the fight. Though I think most got pretty disassembled by that guy..."_

Bulkhead shivered. "Ugh. Did our work for us then. We shouldn't keep the stuff around."

There was a pause. Arcee was the one to break it, however slowly. "Yeah. About that. Do we just leave everything here for the humans to pick up? Is there someone we need to call about this?"

The two-wheeler could almost always be trusted to bring protocol up again. She was the most seasoned soldier here. Bumblebee had purposefully remained a scout, Bulkhead and Wheeljack were former wreckers, and Ratchet was a field medic. Arcee, despite her penchant for running headlong into danger when personal motives were in play, could be trusted to adhere to standard clean up procedures and adherence to the chain of command.

"Technically, that'd be me."

All optics went to agent Fowler as he stood straighter on Arcee's palm.

"And technically, I should be telling you to wait for my boys to come get this stuff and drag it to washington. But-" his seemingly perpetual frown deepened.

"Off the record," he started up again and looked at Optimus "-this is all real powerful tech. Real dangerous tech for you fellas if it was turned on you. Much as I trust the boys in green wouldn't do that, they're not always the ones in charge."

The Prime frowned behind the mask.

"I see," he said simply.

The others digested this. As they did, Optimus pondered unhappily. M.E.C.H. remained, in his mind, a human matter and as such he wished for it to be delegated by human enforcement. It was their world, not his.

_His_ world had died and he'd been unable to save it.

_"So then what do we do with all this?"_ Bumblebee was the first to ask.

"Take it," Ratchet offered, "And burn the toxins."

It was the best plan they had.

* * *

_I must report my failure to the Nemesis_

Failure to the warship and its faction, yes. Failure to his master, yes.

But it was to those vehicons who had been waiting to hear good news of their brethren that he dreaded most to go to; and it was them that he needed most to report his failure to.

Dreadwing tore through the clouds as though doing so could distract him.

_words of true farewell_

Had the vehicons gotten that chance? Had XL-2M99 gotten the chance to bid farewell to XL-8K9C?

He knew it was not so.

Their last conversation no doubt held no apprehension, no sign it would be their last, no sign at all that Dreadwing would merely bring back a corpse.

Not even that. The bodies remained in the place of their desecration. Dreadwing could not carry them.

_He couldn't do **anything**, could he?_

Not kill the Prime. Not kill the traitors. Not bring any of the dead back so that they could have a true last conversation with those they left behind.

_Till all are one_

_Till all are one-_

If they could remember their lives in the Allspark. If the Allspark even took in sparks anymore.

If it ever had been anything but a relief to all those left behind in life without closure.

_words of true farewell-_

_I shall reunite with you when our master commands it_

His jet form swerved in the air, almost peeling into root mode just so he could scrape at his unrelenting audials.

But it wasn't his audials, was it? It was his processor, his memories, his mind- thinking, always thinking, never ceasing-

The _Nemesis_ loomed out of the clouds and Dreadwing had never felt such relief. He let himself transform before he'd landed, grabbing his helm even as he stumbled.

An embarrassing display. Not fit for the second in command of Megatron's forces.

_Not fit-_

Dreadwing swallowed back his roar. He stood absolutely still, waiting for the outburst to contain in full. Then he moved forward. Each step even. Each servo at his sides untensed. His helm upright and steady.

Of course it was steady. What else would he be? What else _could_ he be?

But he did not finish his stroll to the medbay because he knew-

He knew he could not admit his failure yet.

He did not have the strength to do so. It was pathetic for a 2IC, but natural for a grieving split spark.

His room was dark. Dreadwing did not signal for the lights. He waited by the door while his chronometer seemed to stall from how his mind ran rampant and yet slow, so agonizingly slow, not a thought crawling to its finish line, not a sentence pieced together rationally-

The Prime came to mind. How he had acted. How they had allied again.

How he seemed upset looking over the dead vehicons.

Upset over drones, upset over fighters he slaughtered with ease- a joke. He could not laugh.

Megatron would be angry to hear the news. His lord had been angry ever since losing the insecticon armies to Airachnid. Angry over the human's gall, angry over pragmatic losses he had suffered- no thought on the vehicons the dead left behind. No emotion would have flashed over his face but perhaps inspiration at the sight of their twisted forms.

Prime's emotion, as slight as it was, made Dreadwing's energon boil. It was so unwanted, so disgustingly unwarranted. It was so much more than Megatron would offer. His energon boiled like ice.

Normally, the disapproval on his enemy's face would not matter. But he hadn't been able to help fight back the revolting weakness it brought him. It seemed only to be foreshadowing- only to be another almost expressionless face able to express grievances with his actions tonight.

He buried it beneath nothingness. Buried it in the infinite white where nothing could reach such thoughts, could drag them up, and yet-

Yet they were coming.

Returning to his room had been wise. He could not be seen like this. Not until the impassive white could block this nonsense out.

_You massacred defenseless humans_

He had killed them before their defenses could trigger in place. Waiting would give them the chance to fight back, to kill him, to do with him what they did to XL-1SN1 and XL-8K9C; it was not a risk worth taking. He did what he had to when fights were balanced against him; with that wrecker he'd run across in space and multiple others. Skyquake had always been the one to make each fight fair. In Dreadwing's mind, if the battle was weighed against him then striking without warning was fair. And M.E.C.H.'s weaponry could take down any cybertronian with sickening ease.

But that hadn't crossed his mind tonight. He had not considered how striking without forewarning could have been fair in its own way; he had _just struck._ They had screamed as their fortresses burned. They had not been given the chance to fight and die with honor.

And Dreadwing could not care.

Perhaps that made him less than his brother. Perhaps that made the Prime look at him with more angry resolve or unwanted pity.

Perhaps if Skyquake hadn't have left him, Dreadwing would not have had to make the choices he did.

Excuses- a bunch of feeble excuses. Those decepticons were dead and he'd done nothing. His brother was dead and he'd done nothing, not even killed his murderers. Another failure, but one that paled when faced with the dead themselves.

_I will do my best to return your brothers to you all._

He had not even buried them. Even the Prime had buried his brother. He'd burned the humans to their earth below and not returned to give dignified ceremony to their victims.

But he would. Even if the vehicons themselves would no longer want his help after this, he would still order the warship to return and retrieve the bodies.

_I'm...I'm-_

_-sorry,_ was what he meant to say. An apology he was not used to delivering and one that its recipient had not wanted

_Don't bother_ was the response he'd got.

Well he wasn't bothering. He was here, calming down. Returning his mind to a place of peace.

Finally, he stepped away from the door and began to approach the floor of the far side of the room. Further meditation could bring back the controlled peace he'd started the mission with.

The seeker got a ping that he forced himself to look at. Automated message. Soundwave's work then. The communications officer refused to speak or write his words, but still managed to communicate through alerts and taggings just fine.

It was a medical alert. Tags included bleeding on floors, blaster wounds, apparent projectile wounds, and signs of poisoning. A picture of the medbay, with XL-2M99 standing by his tools while Megatron seemed caught in the middle of offering his servo to the traitorous Starscream, also was included with the alert.

As with many of Soundwave's 'words', the alert required a touch of translation. Dreadwing believed he understood its purpose; the TIC was demanding he visit the medical bay to attend to his wounds.

The seeker ignored the ping.

Rather than come in person, Soundwave expressed his displeasure at being brushed aside by sending someone else. Or so Dreadwing imagined it, when the knock came at his door.

"Enter," he said as he refused to move. He would not look behind him. He would not unsettle his meditation.

A few pedesteps entered slowly. They stopped far from where he was kneeling. Too light to be his lord. Too heavy to be Starscream. That, at least, was a small blessing. The sight of his treatment in the image Soundwave had sent put him into a different cloud of rage than the humans earlier had. Dreadwing would not have been able to promise he could have held himself back if it had the traitorous seeker had it been him that disturbed his peace.

If mourning could be called peace.

Neither mech spoke. Any curiosity he felt at having a visitor was suppressed.

Finally, his silence prompted the other to speak first.

"Soundwave wants me to look at you."

The medic, or medic-in-training, then.

Dreadwing could not be sure if he felt relief that he knew his visitor or dread that it was the very vehicon who'd bluntly told him before he was failing at retrieving his brethren. XL-2M99 had never said a word of comfort to him before; why would he start now? Now that the seeker had not saved his friends? Logic said he would not; and that answer said Dreadwing was going to have to hear words he did not want to face yet.

He had no desire to curse Megatron's most loyal officer, but he was feeling very close to doing so to Soundwave now.

"I got a picture of you walking in the hall. You're covered in wounds." He heard the vehicon make a strangled sigh, likely of frustration. "Come on. Get up and go to the medbay with me."

This time the strangled noise came from Dreadwing. The seeker refused to turn. He would not face disappointment. He would not face the expression of unimpressed inevitability.

_Don't bother_

He would not.

The pedes stepped forward a little closer. But XL-2M99 kept his berth wide still.

It always had been. The medic acted like he was a contaminant- something to be held at arms distance, to grimace when it came close, to laugh in relief when it was gone.

Was that not how all vehicons acted when he entered their domain?

Worse still, after tonight, could he blame them? He expected them to do their job subparly, as that was the best they were built to do; be loyal but lack the strength and ability of a trained officer. He expected himself to be able to do all that which vehicons were not created to.

_More than you seem to have dug up with all your training and skill._

Expectations were foolish. He should never have bothered to hold them in the first place. It would have saved him hurt pride.

"Fine. Bleed out here," XL-2M99 said and made just one step back towards the door.

He was waiting.

Dreadwing finally answered his prompt.

"I..."

_I'm sorry_

_I failed_

_Till we are one once more_

"...shut down the human operations on our brethren."

All those things he had never _thought_ to say joined with those things he would not say.

"They are dead. The humans and their victims both."

No reply.

"It was all I could do."

He could have done better.

_What else am I supposed to? Can I really assume he is still alive? That any of them are?_

"...You are not surprised, I imagine," Dreadwing spoke into the silence.

Not surprised XL-8K9C was gone. Not surprised Dreadwing had amounted to the same to all other forged officers the drone's had.

Which one did he mean? Neither worked and yet both did equally.

XL-2M99 clopped a little closer. Never close enough. Always far enough to strain away, to increase their distance.

_Was that not how all vehicons acted when he entered their domain?_

Foolish of him to have played their hero. They'd never asked for that and never wanted him to try.

"I knew he was gone-" XL-2M99's voice was high, strained. "I was... _braced_. For it."

The seeker sighed, vents releasing the air he'd been holding in with tightened plating.

"Please do not think I did not try," he growled out.

Another silence that felt so oppressively judgemental.

"I wish I had tried harder," Dreadwing filled the quiet. "But I failed you. I failed your brothers. I could not protect them."

Having admitted it, hoping it would send the vehicon away and leave him in peace, the seeker turned to look behind him.

XL-2M99 was standing half the room away. His servos were balled into shaking fists. The unwarped side of his visor was brightened.

He had read the silences wrong.

The medic was not judging. He was _grieving_.

And that was something Dreadwing was well familiar with. Perhaps he could not help save his brethren, save the medic's brother-

But he could at the least show the survivors of this M.E.C.H.'s attack the ancient ceremonies and processes to mourning.

* * *

It would've been easy to think they'd have returned to a calmer atmosphere than what they'd left behind in Arizona.

The chaos that was the base served to prove exactly what assumptions got you.

Bulkhead dodged by the junk on the floor and only narrowly avoided flattening Ratchet's makeshift groundbridge control.

Of course, there was more to it; some added depth to explain this mess.

It had started when they were still mulling around the M.E.C.H. base. The crates of decoy Tox-En were emptied and replaced with some of the sketchiest looking pieces of weaponry laying around the place. Eventually, they'd stacked up all the boxes they'd deemed important enough to take back to base. Fowler helped them organize and chose which weapons to hide while Arcee and Bumblebee stayed with the other three humans.

Bulkhead was worried about Miko. She had barely spoken with him. She didn't meet his optics. But now wasn't a good time to talk with her.

By the time they had gotten to go back to base, she'd slipped away. Bulkhead couldn't find where the girl had gone off to and was left to worry over her absence.

Still, that was later. After they had gotten to the base.

First they'd had to go through what he later filed down in his mental category of _Those_ Incidents. Optimus had stood over their pile of crates while he and Jackie returned from where they'd been burning the Tox-En down to tox-slag. Their leader looked over the waiting autobots, the ruined facility behind, and the paling sky on the eastern desert.

He wasn't trying to be dramatic- but Optimus managed without trying.

The impact was ruined a minute later when he commed for a groundbridge and received an unnaturally long pause. Then Raf's voice had piped up, sounding years older than he usually did. "Yeah. I can't do that just now. Give me one moment to get the bridge to work for the other team and I'll get you back. Hopefully in less pieces than them."

Every bot had looked to one of their allies and then at Bumblebee for some sort of explanation.

"_What_?" the scout threw his servos into a shrug.

"The weirdo is your human," Breakdown said, "You should know what his glitch is."

Optimus didn't deign to join in that. He lifted one finger to his audial and tried to get clarification.

"Rafael? What do you mean?"

"It means I'm busy!" the boy snapped back, sounding uncharacteristically short tempered.

Obviously, he'd been spending too much time with Ratchet.

They waited for elaboration that did not come.

Sitting against Arcee's leg with his mom, Jack rubbed his hands down exhausted eyes. "What is taking us so long?" he yawned.

The movement didn't go unnoticed by Ratchet. The medic kept looking at all three humans and then looking away pointedly.

Bulkhead knew that look. It meant the old guy was taking their exhaustion and hurts personally; it meant he was taking guilt on he didn't deserve.

_"Raf? We're all kinda waiting for pickup here and got no clue what you're talking about..."_ Bumblebee tried through the comms.

Finally the boy's voice came over the comms again.

If it had sounded older before, now it sounded like it came from a human in his hundreds.

"Alright..." Raf sighed, "Alright. I should be abl-yeah, there's no-there's nothing...Ugh. I'll bridge you all back now."

Another confused glance was shared between all.

Then the bridge had opened, the team had picked up boxes, walked through, and almost tripped over the Iacon relics.

_...what._

Which brought Bulkhead back up to the current chaos of the base.

Starting with Bumblebee bridging an exhausted Raf back to his house (after the boy had hugged Ms. Darby long and tight) for what little hours of sleep were left for him. The scout was really the only one to keep his head about the care of the humans at the moment, since the rest of them were a teeny bit preoccupied either yelling, being silently impressed, or just watching in twisted entertainment-

Because the relics hadn't just shown up by magic. No, they'd been tugged straight from the _Nemesis_ itself by the two bots that had been ordered to stay on groundbridge/communications duty.

And apparently both bots were only alive right now because the phase shifter could enter the ground rather than let the impact of falling from the sky burst the mechs open.

The relics weren't quite as lucky. The resonance blaster looked like a little block of compressed metal. The immobilizer was in more pieces than it had been when Bumblebee had broke it during the fight with Airachnid. Really, the forge seemed to be the only weapon to look remotely alright.

Ratchet was, to use the human word Fowler let slip on occasion (when he hadn't noticed the kids or June Darby were nearby), _pissed_. And Optimus was radiating disapproval. Breakdown was being all concerned over Knock Out, who looked just fine frankly, and kept getting mad at the bots currently yelling at the younger medic. Smokescreen was withering by Arcee, who was too tired to yell at him for a second time in one day.

Both wreckers tried to stay out of the mess.

That lasted for a while. Knock Out and Breakdown had made a strategic retreat to their room, Smokescreen had fled for a drive (and then was dragged back because, in simple terms, he was grounded [again]), and Optimus had taken it upon himself to lift all the relics (excluding the pieces of the immobilizer, which Ratchet had swept up to deal with, and including the star saber that had been set against the groundbridge controls earlier) and carry them to one of the empty storage rooms. Arcee had managed to pry June and Jack away from where Ratchet was trying to scan them and took both humans home. The medic stormed into the medbay before they'd even finished saying goodbye to him; he looked furious over how useless the scanners he'd made to analyze humans were, but all the subsiding panic and unwarranted guilt was obvious to the wrecker watching. Miko was still awol, hidden somewhere in the base no doubt.

Left alone, Bulkhead and Wheeljack stayed leaning against the wall opposite the medbay.

Really, he didn't even know what to talk about anymore. It was hard to top the surprise Knock Out and Smokescreen had given them all.

It was the smaller wrecker that broke the peaceable silence.

"Who does he think he is, actin' like this is all on him? Like he's so high and mighty for taking on responsibility he doesn' deserve?" Jackie was frowning at the medbay.

That was just how Ratchet was.

"He does this every time," Bulkhead shrugged.

Didn't seem to be quite the right answer. The other wrecker's frown had only grown deeper.

"None of you ever thought to stop him from doin' it?"

Optimus tried. He was the only one who could try without getting his head chewed off by an angry medic.

"Believe me," the green mech laughed, "He doesn't take to comfort any better than he takes to criticism."

The other wrecker made a humming sound and looked back at the medbay.

"You really don't like him, do you?" Bulkhead shook his head with an exasperated grin. First Perceptor when the sniper had been assigned to their unit, then their commanders- really _anyone_ who bothered to try to act calm and professional just drove Wheeljack up the wall.

But the other wrecker just looked confused at the rhetorical question.

"Who, Ratchet?" he asked.

At Bulkhead's nod, Wheeljack just frowned again.

"Nah. That's not it."

The other mech pushed off the wall and walked towards the medbay before Bulkhead could ask him to elaborate.

And so he was left the only one in the main room.

Well. May as well find Miko at this rate. Maybe she'd tell him what had her acting so weirdly. He was worried about her.

Who was he fooling?

He was worried about all of them.

Even the new rookie and the two con defectors he thought he'd always hate.


	37. Cognitive Dissonance and Lost Innocence

Miko goes to Knock Out instead of a therapist. Wheeljack and Ratchet confront issues with responsibility and in doing so touch on the same regrets the human and young medic in a different room are discussing concurrently.

_AN- A few references to the IDW 2005 continuity and discussion of the theory of cognitive dissonance (although no knowledge of the latter should be necessary to understand the chapter)._

* * *

This entire day sucked.

It had been bad ever since he'd first faced all the disapproval over letting Smokescreen run off with Jack into what turned out to be a combat zone.

It had gotten worse when he'd had to see Soundwave face to face again.

Dropping into the sky screaming somehow managed to top the terror that was seeing the decepticon 3IC again. The two speedsters grappled midair in panic, letting the relics fall out of their reach as they dropped. Raf was no help at all, failing to get the groundbridge open for any of them. Flightframe vehicons swooped around them, shooting through their bodies while the phase shifter remained activated; obviously the sheer amount of fighter jets was Soundwave's fault. Knock Out figured his spark would gutter out when they were never bridged back. He wasn't exactly a flyer himself (out of his own volition; he was an automobile enthusiast after all) and as such had absolutely no desire to ever see the ground loom up at him. Or hit it, for that matter. Even if apparently the phase shifter did not have proper grounding to keep its weilder from simply sinking through the ground...really, what were the stupid thing's limits? Next time, that relic was his and Smokescreen could take the immobilizer. The very broken immobilizer. Maybe he should just not touch that relic again. He seemed to have a penchant for getting it ruined.

And then getting yelled at by Ratchet cut even deeper than any of the horror on, or below, the _Nemesis_ had. Luckily, he'd had Breakdown there and the two of them had managed to bid a speedy escape away from all that disappointing disapproval.

But seeing the human waiting for him in his room with crossed arms and a frown?

Somehow that was just the proverbial cherry on top of this disaster of a day.

There was a moment of silence while the two cybertronians looked down on the little human.

Then Miko nodded her head at Knock Out. "Yo. Let's chat."

* * *

All he wanted was to be left alone.

And Ratchet wasn't even going to be allowed that.

If Primus was watching, instead of dead in the center of a lifeless Cybertron, then he'd probably be laughing at the medic's misfortune. As it was, fate was laughing at him regardless of the presence or absence of a similarly amused deity.

"Couldn' help but notice you pouting."

Really? He very much could have helped but notice. At the least, the wrecker didn't have to bother talking about whatever 'pouting' Ratchet was supposedly doing.

"Busy!" he tossed back without turning around from his desk.

A moment later and Wheeljack spoke again. "You're organizing and reorganizing those wrenches. That's not you being 'busy'."

_At the least,_ the wrecker could keep quiet about that fact.

Ratchet spun around. "I'm busy _thinking_."

"No," Wheeljack interrupted what was about to be the command for him to get out. "You're just thinkin' too much."

Maybe that was because the medic had to do all the thinking for every mech at this base of younglings and optimistic idiots.

He shouldn't be thinking like that. That was harsh and he didn't mean it.

"Oh, because you're such an expert in that field," Ratchet rolled his optics rather than address any of his tired thoughts.

The wrecker shifted where he was leaning against the partition wall.

"Somethin's is eating you. Why let it?"

Was he just supposed to let all concerns float away? That may work for irresponsible wreckers, but a medic had too valuable a job to ever stop analyzing his own ability-

"The humans have you upset," the wrecker cut off Ratchet's thought processes again.

"P-le-ase." Ratchet scoffed again. "I don't know wha-"

Wheeljack didn't change expression.

"The one we were sent to rescue. You're worried 'bout her. You wanted to help her when we got everyone back here. But you weren't letting yourself."

Enough of this. Ratchet was trying to work here.

The more he worked, the less he thought. The less he thought, the further away from all the guilt he felt over June's disappearance and injuries he got-

_The medic...could've done better_

With Bumblebee. With Orion Pax. With Drift and the other addicts of _Rodion's Dead End._ With so many mechs and worlds and aliens over the ages...

"I'm nothing of the sort! W-wh-why would I be worried over something I-something I couldn't do anything about-"

Scrap. That was not what he'd meant to say.

"Exactly. You couldn' have done a thing more to help. You did the best you could," Wheeljack frowned. "'s not like you were there when she got those injuries."

The medic let his mouth hang open without a biting reply for a moment. Then a part of him began to laugh. Oh no. No, this ruffian was not allowed to have this talk with him. Optimus tried it enough times and Ratchet didn't even tend to listen to those talks.

"These accursed scanners still do not work. I'm still unable to truly help if one of them gets hurt. I should have let nurse Darby groundbridge home and here that night. I-"

"Stop takin' responsibility for everythin' that happens," the wrecker cut him off. Ratchet flashed him a glare full of anger; a mask to hide just how deep that cut.

"W-e-ll, I will when you start taking responsibility at all!"

That response elicited a cycling of expressions from the other. Amusement and anger and something hurt that made the medic's spark squeeze in brief guilt.

"This song again?" Wheeljack said with subdued emotion. "The record's broken, doc." So they were back to doc, were they? He supposed he couldn't be surprised after what he'd just said to the other. "Put a new one in and stop tellin' me what everyone else already does."

Trying to maintain his own irritated demeanor, Ratchet scoffed.

"It hasn't seemed to work yet," he retorted.

There came that anger, and there it left again just as fast.

"You know, my old commander?" the wrecker started up.

Judging by the way he was speaking, the medic should just sit down and make himself comfortable for a long story containing some lecture or other. Really, couldn't bots just pick times to talk his audials off that he wasn't busy during?

"He wanted us to be responsible," the small mech kept on going, "All the time, for everythin'. We weren't allowed to so much as step outta place. The bots and I, one time we got him good. Snuck a tasteless brand of high grade into his energon; double potent. We just wanted to see _him_ get embarassed and humiliated for once."

Whatever bitter history there was waiting back there kept Ratchet from thinking it was just sheer insubordination.

"Worked, too." Wheeljack laughed humorlessly. "Guy sang for us real good that night. Went off on everythin' we'd done in past. Knew each track record we had and shared each one with the gang. Told us we were a disgrace at the end. All of us, the group and the individual, disgracing the autobots and everythin' they stood for. Said we were no better than those con teams we wreckers were supposed to fight. Let me tell you somethin', doc," the wrecker leaned his head forward and bared his dentae. "I don't like cons. I fraggin' hate 'em. Being compared to 'em?"

In all fairness, wreckers were a...gray area in autobot history. A blotch of necessary evil, not that Ratchet would ever say that to either of the two at the base.

But it was pretty well known that whatever unhappiness they felt at doing the hard things, the things no other bot wanted to do, collided with their sense of self. Every questionable thing they did, they would throw at the cons for responsibility. Obviously, they'd _never_ have killed that one neutral hostage _if_ the _decepticons_ hadn't forced their servo. Obviously, they'd _never_ have executed that prisoner with all that vital intel for the other side _if_ the _cons_ weren't pressuring their base defenses at the time.

Obviously, obviously, _excuses_-

It was hard to hate a group when you did the exact same things they did without starting to hate yourself as well.

And wreckers didn't have time for doubts or weaknesses. So any self hate fueled by hypocrisy they felt got redirected. They built up mental shields, social walls; questioning one of their decisions meant they had to think about it and doing that threatened to bring in debilitating cognitive dissonance.

It meant they had to strengthen those barriers.

It meant they had to compensate and grow closer to their units and never, ever, address how they could feel good about doing the very things they hated decepticons for doing.

For a wrecker commander to break that unspoken deal?

"I hated him right then," Wheeljack admitted. "I hated him more than I'd ever hated him before. But he called me out; I couldn' ignore it. I tried to think 'bout what he said and I just...I _couldn't_. I couldn' be what he wanted. I couldn' be what the autobots were but I loved the autobots. I couldn' face what he said and I couldn' just leave my brand behind either."

After a moment's pause, Ratchet spoke up lowly. There was no doubt that the quiet was intentional; that it was meant to prompt _him_ forward. But the medic fell for the prompt regardless of knowing its tactical presence.

"...was that when you left?"

The wrecker looked away.

"Yeah," he answered. "Alot of the bots, they'd already gone. I'd stuck it out longer than I should've. Maybe if I'da left sooner, I wouldn' have heard the commander call us all 'disgraces'. Slaggers that couldn't bother to take responsibility and hid their faults behind useless bravado or angry excuses."

All of which was true.

But if Ratchet understood wreckers as much as he thought he did, hearing that hadn't gone over well with any of them.

"He was right, I guess," Wheeljack spoke up again when both had gone quiet.

"What do you mean?" the medic shook out of his reverie.

There was another short laugh, just as devoid of mirth as the last one.

"I'm not good enough to wear this badge. I'm just a slagger playin' nice with the wrong team and facin' that fact would break me apart. For a while, I thought us wreckers were doin' good for the world. Then Bulk walked out on us 'cause he wanted to be part of somethin' bigger, somethin' softer, and Magnus pranced into the hole he'd left. I blame him for the rust setting in, but in truth-"

The glare directed at the floor sharpened. Plating tightened down audibly.

"-he just shone a light on the rust that was already there."

* * *

She had the _nerve_ to kick Breakdown out.

Granted, it wasn't like the teen actually could kick the big mech out. But Knock Out was curious enough about this visit to allow it. Breakdown shut the door behind him after leaving; if the blue mech was anything like the medic, then he'd be sticking around to hear the gossip from the outside. But Knock Out wasn't sure the blue mech _was_ like him in that way. He'd certainly never noticed Breakdown caught in the act with one of his weird vehicon pals before.

"Alright," the speedster said as soon as the door shut. He slid down to sit on the berth and looked down at Miko. "You've got my attention-", no easy feat itself, "-now what do you want to do with it?"

The human stayed where she was. Not that she had anywhere to go or sit down.

"You're a bad guy, right?" she asked.

Knock Out did a wordless double take.

What?

"Beg your pardon?" he spluttered.

The 'untouchable' airs Miko had been trying to carry left when she let her arms uncross. The teen walked closer to the berth.

What was he supposed to do now again? Knock Out wished he gotten just a tad bit more time on Earth with the humans before he and the rest of the team had been cut off from the organic planet. That may have given him more practice with how to deal with this.

"I mean, that's why Bulk and Wheeljack always act all weird around you," Miko 'explained'.

Really, he wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or complimented or just plain confused.

"Isn't it?"

Well, if she was going to be so blunt...

"We've all butted heads in the past," Knock Out acknowledged with an unconcerned wave of his servo. "Breakdown and I..._used_ to do things Optimus would not be proud of, that much I admit. I'm sure we're all very regretful of those times though-"

"But you're not, right?" the human interrupted.

Once again, he had to do a double take, arms extended mid-gesture.

"Excuse me," he said, "What?"

"It's an act, I mean. Isn't it?" she asked and there was something almost desperate in the question.

Insolent, squishy little child-

"If it's an act, it's lasted a few months longer than it'd need to, wouldn't it have?" Knock Out answered with a rhetorical question of his own, just as she'd been doing.

This time it was his turn to cross his arms and her turn to look confused.

"No, that's not-" she ran her hands through her hair and growled. It was far more disheveled than usual. The medic didn't think he'd ever seen it released from its little hair containment clip things before now.

The word _unraveling_ came to mind.

"I've heard you talk with Arcee."

Oh, the little spy-

"Now, now, that's not very polite a thing for you to have done." His smile grew dangerously wide. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Miko scoffed. "What, overhearing things? That's nothing like-...that's. Ugh."

_Ugh_? How very cultured.

"I'm not saying you're secretly a con still or you want us all dead or even that you don't wanna be part of the team," she finally started up again. "But I'm pretty sure you don't regret doing bad stuff in the past."

Stupid kid was digging a little too close to home. Knock Out resisted the urge to forcibly eject her from the room and leaned over his knees instead.

"Okay, answer this: do you wish you could undo that stuff?" she glared up at him unwaveringly.

Or as unwavering as a misty eyed teenage human could.

"You want me to be honest?" the medic leaned further forward and watched her slide back just a bit. "Fine. We can have a little truth circle, all to our lonesomes. But you're going to be disappointed in the answer; I _would_ take it back. I'm more than willing to go back and undo mistakes. Believe me."

The little human bit her lip instead of replying. Her eyes were still misted over.

Scrap, was he going to have to deal with a crying human? Bulkhead's crying human?

The wrecker was going to be furious if he walked in on this without understanding it was her doing the real harassing.

But Miko didn't get more upset as the seconds ticked by. "...Alright. But do you actually feel _bad_ about doing it? Like...I don't know how to put it." The admission seemed to make her angry. She was chewing her lip again.

In complete honesty, Knock Out had no idea where any of this was going.

He tried to sound a bit less condescending when he spoke up next; had to give the kid the benefit of the doubt, after all. Wouldn't that be the autobot way?

And he really was curious under all the confusion.

"I feel bad about how my friends would react to it-" he answered.

He was going to say more but that seemed to be enough for Miko. Her entire face lit up, not with a smile but with some sort of vindication or relief. Who was he to say? It wasn't like he was used to reading humans or anything.

"That's what I thought! I knew it!"

Now he was even more confused about where this was going.

Since she didn't elaborate on the enthusiasm, Knock Out figured the conversation was over. But the human didn't move from the spot she'd rooted herself to.

"Soo..." he finally tried, hoping she'd leave and Breakdown would come back from where he was eavesdropping outside. "Good talk and all, but are you done?"

Miko returned from her reverie and glanced at him. "Not quite." She took a few trudging steps towards the berth and then slumped down into a seated position by his pede. The medic scooted said pede away from her organic reach discreetly.

"I just wanted to check my guess," she said, poking at the ground she was sitting on distractedly. "I had to make sure. I need to talk with someone who's gonna understand what I've got to say."

...wait. What? This talk was going in all sorts of directions that threw him for a loop.

"Um. I'm not real into the whole 'good listener' gig-"

"Yadda yadda-" Miko opened and shut her hand in a motion seemingly meant to mock a talking mouth. "You're not a psychiatric doctor, all that disclaimer jazz, whatever. But you'll get it. You'll get it."

Once again, curiosity prompted him forward. Knock Out found that he was still looking down at the seated human, even if she hadn't bothered to look up at him.

Or hadn't wanted to.

This entire motion- was it hiding?

Was she hiding?

"Color me interested," he purred, leaning so far that he was practically folded against his knees at this point.

There was a pause when Miko took in a long breath. Silly human engineering and their need to breath.

"You know that con that was out there tonight?"

"Dreadwing, yes. We're unfortunately acquainted," Knock Out replied.

She seemed to catch his air of distaste and shook with a single laugh.

"You know how he likes to use bombs, like Wheeljack?" she asked.

Of course he knew that. He did have to work with the mech at one point.

"'cept his aren't grenades like Wheeljack's. They aren't timed. They're remote controlled. There was a big fight tonight with the bugs; he lost the controller during the fight."

Miko had returned to picking at the floor. Knock Out made himself clean at his claws to try to mimic the expression.

"I was trying to help Jack and his mom get away from the fight but it kept on following us. And then the con dropped his little remote and we were near it and-"

Like that fragging subway in New York, her point hit him dead on. She hadn't finished the story, but he had already frozen into place upon realizing where this was headed.

No...no way.

But then again, this human had killed Hardshell in his old world.

"There were alot of the bad guys flying around. We knew we needed to help the bots. Mrs. Darby was moving to push it, but she wouldn't."

"So you did." It wasn't even a question.

Her hands fisted on the concrete floor instead of continuing their neurotic movement.

"Yeah," she confirmed.

And the normally bright, if annoyingly suspicious, voice sounded so very hollow.

Knock Out's spark didn't pang with sympathy, but his mind felt something akin to the emotion as he pieced together why she'd come to him and not her usual partner.

"You helped them win the fight," the medic made his voice lighthearted, uncaring. "Certainly the others aren't going to be mad about that."

"Not mad," Miko scoffed. "Just worried. They're going to get all concerned. I really-" her voice broke. A moment later, she tried again "-I really don't- I can't hear that anymore."

"Anymore?" he prodded.

The teen let her head fall back against the foot of the berth and grinned a little.

"They've been worried about me since Bulk came back with half his face gone. They're gonna be worse if they find out. I want them to know 'cause it's tearing me up inside to think about but...I don't want them to."

It struck him that this scenario didn't seem all that far off from conversations he'd had with Arcee.

Except, for once, it was him playing her role.

He tried to do what he figured she would've have: "Why's that?"

The grin was gone. The hollow voice returned with all its torn frequency.

"Cause I feel like scrap after doing it but I don't feel guilty. I should. I'm waiting for it to hit. But all I feel is wrong." She shook her head and a track of gross organic fluid slid down to one temple. "I've been so mad since Bulk got hurt. I've just wanted to hurt M.E.C.H. and that vehicon and everyone else responsible. I got that chance tonight, I took it, and I don't feel any better. Just..."

Any pretense at paying attention was gone at this point. Though he hadn't consciously noticed, Knock Out was listening motionless to a young human he barely knew- fully captivated.

"I don't feel better and I don't feel bad. But I can't go back..." Miko grimaced. "I can't go back to school. I can't go back to my parents in Japan. I can't go back to everything there was before."

She slammed her fists on the ground in brief frustration. "If pulling that trigger is gonna keep me from going back, I could at the least feel guilty about it!"

A bit uncertain, Knock Out let his servo fall in slow, jerky motions until he was scooping the human up. The feeling of something so small and breakable and full of nasty fluids made him frown, but the medic dealt with the discomfort and set Miko down on the berth near him.

"Do you get it?" she muttered out and brushed an arm under the few tears she'd let fall.

Knock Out kept his claws near the teen that was slowly wavering back until she was leaning against them.

"Yeah," he told her, watching as the youngling who no longer felt like she could be young started to succumb to exhaustion.

"I do."

He waited a few minutes until she'd fallen asleep before picking her up in one servo and standing up (keeping the servo, with its organic passenger, at arms length away from his chassis). Maybe the bots were mad at him for running around with Smokescreen, but at least bringing back their missing human would probably garner back some of that old acceptance.

When he opened the door, there was no Breakdown waiting on the other side. Some muffled voices came from the direction of the main room. He knew that's where he should head with the sleeping human then. No reason to dally about.

Knock Out wasn't sure what to do with the offense he felt at the empty hallway, with how it seemed to signal that he wasn't important enough to wait for or listen to secretly, and so he did his best to ignore its presence.


	38. Cross-Faction Comforts

XL-2M99 defrosts ever so slightly and tries out an archaic mourning ritual despite reservations. Arcee takes Jack and June home and does her best to let them sleep easy without the fear of Airachnid or M.E.C.H. looming

* * *

When they'd bridged right into the garage, Arcee stayed in a crouch to fit. June took both a deep breath in and one step away from the ground she'd left the bridge onto.

"Home sweet home, right?" she asked in the same voice she'd use to joke. Or an attempt at that voice that wavered in exhausted stress. Normally, Jack would respond to such 'joking' manner with embarrassed protest.

Normally.

"You'll have to get a new car," Arcee noted at the empty garage. "Or I'll have to get used to being lonely out here."

Ten minutes later and they'd all taken her attempt at lightheartedness completely seriously and misinterpreted it fully.

June was asleep on the pullout couch, wrapped up in two pairs of blankets despite the spring warmth. Jack was laying on three chair cushions right at the bottom of the couch, eyelids still open despite his exhaustion. While before it was worry keeping him awake, now it was shere tired relief that made sleep evade him.

And the uncanny feeling that the spider-bot would try to crawl back into the house to get his mom again.

Laying uncomfortably on the ground of the human living room, Arcee was also far from recharge. She wouldn't let her open optics land on her junior partner's though; no need to tempt him to speak or something. Not when June was trying to sleep.

They'd asked her to wheel in through the side door in alt mode and, after securing all blinds and curtains, she'd carefully transformed into a crouch. The carpets would just have to be washed and vacuumed another day. For now, her active blasters let both humans feel safe enough to rest as much as they could all things considered.

If Airachnid tried to come back (not that any of them knew how she'd gotten into Jasper in the first place yet- the team had many questions but no desire to pressure June when it was so clear the nurse needed rest), she'd find the Darby family and co ready to beat her spindly aft.

* * *

The medbay was quiet now. No injured vehicons from the airborne attack on the two autobot invaders. The only one injured was also dead, having been hit by a lucky shot thrown by the immobilizer and killed upon impacting the ground in stasis. XL-2M99 did not see the dead in the medbay. There was no use for them here.

The vehicon, who he learned from a friend was named XL-4U1L, was not even retrieved from the planet's surface. Why should he have been?

It was just the way of things. They all were disposable, both to the decepticons and the autobots (who would slide their blade home as soon as they got what they wanted, wouldn't they? Hadn't he?)

He shouldn't be noticing it at all. But he did. He picked it up now. A gesture, a brush off. The exact mistreatment offered to this army had only become noticeable when he'd been offered an alternative.

It should've been ironic. Sappy officers were supposed to be a hallmark of the autobots. That's what the cons always made fun of them for.

But XL-2M99's exposure to autobot officers was limited to just their-

Their...med-

That one. And he'd been anything but sappy. He'd bantered darkly at the start, right before dropping that welder-

No. He couldn't think about that. All that mattered was that it proved his point. The rec room jokes about those weak little autobots seemed at odds with reality for him. Instead of one of them picking him up from tripping to shower all sorts of care and stupid sappy gestures, it was a decepticon officer. A forged mech working directly under Lord Megatron himself.

_"It is the innermost energon of my twin,"_ Dreadwing had shown him one of the luminescent vials. XL-2M99 had never seen anything like it. So different from the fluids he saw here in the medbay.

_"Do you have any from him?"_ the seeker had asked and the vehicon had looked away from the vial to the ground where both were kneeling. It was proper, apparently. XL-2M99 wouldn't know. He'd never had ceremony to stand on when it came to those dead companions strewn over his history.

_"No."_

The officer seemed to deflate at that. What could he have expected though? Vehicons didn't go around having 'brothers' and sharing innermost energon or any of that slag. That was restricted to a different world. The world of real mechs. The world of the sentient.

Vehicons had always considered themselves as self aware and intelligent. But XL-2M99 had never realized how much he separated himself from those mech's he considered _genuine_ until those barriers had dropped away.

One single glyph. One odd officer.

All from one burn.

And he never would repeat it. He would still return to that oblivious state if it meant undoing the memory of the burn.

"_I_..." the medic had started up again, unsure._ "...guess we all have the same energon though. We're all just the same protoform made alive by fractions of a once living spark Shockwave manipulated. I could-"_

He'd never even seen anything like it.

It was a darker blue than common energon.

_"-use mine. Couldn't I?"_

They had. Dreadwing instructed him on how to collect a vial of his own. The seeker waited where he was kneeling, staring only at the far wall, while the vehicon had retreated towards the door to bare his spark chamber in privacy.

It was a smaller spark chamber than forged mechs had. XL-2M99 had noticed that from the scans of patients he'd looked over.

But they had smaller sparks. Why not save space? Shockwave was nothing if not practical.

He'd returned with the vial and even less energy than he'd had before. It was not a high bar. Since reawakening his leader and commander Starscream, XL-2M99 had already felt tired. Getting the subtle order to retrieve commander Dreadwing and drag the seeker into the medbay had only served to irritate him and exponentiate his exhaustion.

Yet he stayed. He weakened his own reserves and left an empty ache in his spark chamber just to retrieve something he'd never wanted to know existed.

For a ceremony.

What was the point of a ceremony? It would not bring back the dead.

The lights in Dreadwing's quarters were off. The room was large. Larger than his new one. And his new one was larger still than any berth a vehicon was offered in the group commune or mines.

Why would a vehicon complain of small living space? It wasn't like they would live that much longer anyways.

They all died sometime.

So perhaps learning a ceremony to honor those dead, the multitude of expendables left behind by war and remembered only by their faceless brethren, was...

Perhaps it had a point. What that point was, XL-2M99 wasn't sure. But perhaps it had one regardless.

It seemed to calm Dreadwing down at least.

They'd set the vial on the ground and its slight glow, along with those of Dreadwing's deceased twin, was the only light in the room besides their own optics. Red and blue, revealing their kneeling shapes and the unforgiving floor they sat on; red and blue like the autobot Prime. Like the mech who'd once grabbed his short blade and given XL-2M99 the break needed to run.

To run and run until he'd collapsed in the dry canyon, body distracted by pain and mind distracted in praising his good fortune.

For he had lived and that, to a vehicon, was the most unlikely and blessed of gifts.

So that corner of the room was lit by vibrant colors of life while the purple of the warship was far too dim to see. The seeker moved to grab a tool off his narrow bench of energon vials and let its tip slide off to reveal the heat beyond.

The heat to burn. XL-2M99 flinched back away but Dreadwing did not seem to notice the movement. He let his tool slip into the vial and left the thin wand remaining protruded from there.

The energon, his energon, had burned. Innermost or not, all their life fluid was flammable.

His vents had been cycling hard by then. That finally caught Dreadwing's attention and the mech had looked at him in concern. But the reactions were misred; the officer thought his overheating frame was a sign of grief.

Perhaps it was, in part.

_"We let it burn like their departed sparks did,"_ the seeker had tried to explain. _"Like we must believe they continue to burn, in the allspark. This is XL-8K9C. XL-1SN1. XL-S33Y. Every one those humans took."_

_-like we must believe they continue to burn._ That, out of everything, cut into XL-2M99 the hardest. The protocol was built in longing, in desperate hope. Somehow, its less than certain basis (so very different from everything Shockwave did) seemed fitting for the old seeker.

It was not a guarantee. It was a long held assumption that all sparks returned to the allspark, hence the name, but vehicons did not have sparks that came from the well. Assumptions, even those about the allspark taken for granted, were not facts. Facts were comforting.

_like we must believe-_ Dreadwing had said. Not 'like they continue to burn'. Not 'as we know they burn on'.

_"I did not get the chance to know them,"_ the officer went on, staring into the flaming vial. _"So this is your ceremony to lead. To remember the lost and honor them. Out loud, in silence; the ancients did both. I leave it up to you."_

XL-2M99 had not said anything out loud. But he did remember.

His chronometer warned how much time had passed before he had broken from the depressing spiral of memories- of those happy people he would never see again.

Dreadwing stood up and tried to help him to his pedes. The medic had not allowed the touch. He did not want to be touched by any of those mechs with faces so expressive, so very different from a drone's. Faces that could twist into anger or grit dentae as they held his flailing form down to the unrelenting dirt to melt his face away.

But he did not want to shy away either. And that surprised him more than his acceptance to attempt this odd, archaic twist at comfort.

He'd almost thanked Dreadwing before leaving. The words still did not come, but he considered them so hard that he froze in his departure.

XL-2M99 finished folding the cortical psychic patch cables into their compartment and sat down to rest.

All these silly thoughts going round in his head. XL-3T09 should never have spread the rumors of independence in his head. They had him seeing things in different lights.

No, there was no such thing as the sappy autobot stereotype the decepticon officers laughed about. And there was no way for the others, those without the medic glyph on their shoulder, to be anything but disposable.

Even if one of their forged officers saw them that way. Dreadwing was just one, just as Breakdown had been one. Megatron would never care. Soundwave was an enigma. And now Starscream had returned; and that mech had used the energon harvester on a vehicon ally not that long ago. XL-Y475. He'd been a shy mech. Wanted to see the well of allsparks alive again. Said it was on his bucket list. Damn fool, making a bucket list like that. Hadn't he realized who he was? _What_ he was? He had to have once Starscream had turned that weapon on him. The delusions and hopes sucked away along with all the energon.

Oh yes. None of them had missed their former commander.

Here XL-2M99 was really starting to grow used to a different dynamic on the _Nemesis_. A new environment that noticed them, that offered grieving rites and pretty words and fool comforts.

Breakdown had once cared and then had left them all. Dreadwing filled his spot but held a position that all those on the _Nemesis_ knew Starscream would want. If the smaller seeker couldn't be the leader of the decepticons, he could at least be expected to only be second to that leader.

XL-2M99 stood up again and turned off the still alit screen used during the cortical psychic patch.

He'd been at the screen all along.

He'd seen Skyquake through its lens and it was the only time he'd ever seen his new commander's 'brother'.

And he did not think Dreadwing should know exactly what he'd seen on that screen.

If watching vehicons he did not know have humans reanimate and use their corpses had given him a melt down this cycle, what more would he do at the news Starscream had reanimated his dead twin?

Nothing good, XL-2M99 figured, and so the medic stayed silent on the matter.

He planned to preserve this newfound peace.

By any means he had available to him.

* * *

Commander Kurtzman was currently pleased enough with M.E.C.H.'s progress of late.

Yes, they had lost the 'transformation' plant.

But they still had those chimeras that had not been at the plant when the titans had struck.

Some were underground, protecting M.E.C.H. labs and bunkers.

Some were underground for a different reason and at a very different type of location.

And some were above; floating among the clouds along with every other faceless ghost in the army that called themselves decepticons.

While some models- the modified models, the original biochimeras, the occasional failed and salvaged neurochimera- could not pass as a living 'vehicon', others could. The neurochimera could pass through any cybertronian scan and be called alive as can be. After all, those still had their sparks beating and energon flowing; it was only the processor that had been lobotomized and controlled by human interface.

The _Nemesis_ had yet to uncover any of these agents.

Kurtzman was sure that their good luck was sure to fail one day. For now, though?

They could cut their losses in Masaya, Sinaloa, and Pima. From the shadows, they could continue to gather intel on the technology of the warship; technology that would benefit humankind, and no doubt sell to them. Perhaps the aliens themselves would come to buy improved weaponry off their markets.

Let these titans fight each other. Let them tear each other apart.

Each scrap they left behind, M.E.C.H. would retrieve. Every limb torn away would go to better use.

So let them think M.E.C.H.'s main operations had been in Pima, Arizona.

It was better that the aliens return to ignoring the humans and fight each other instead.

Losses were just another path to victory.

And Kurtzman still believed that M.E.C.H. would be the victors in the end.

* * *

AN- Thus ends the Airachid/MECH arc. One of those enemies will rear up again later, but this arc officially closes and the omega key arc begins.


	39. The Certified Good Guys Learning Curve

Knock Out tries to give Miko a helping hand-er, servo. Arcee, in turn, tries to give him help.  
Optimus returns from some time away with big news.

* * *

As it turned out, Ratchet had access to more human miscellania than he probably wanted to admit. For someone who apparently knew so little of Earth that he'd botched all three kid's science experiments, the old medic still had all sorts of trinkets in his drawers.

Knock Out only knew this because as the assistant medic he'd been forced to deal with Ratchet's cluttered workspace. This for him had meant peeking into every cabinet and even trying to arrange things into a more sane order (an act of goodness that only got him the senior medic's ire; see if he ever helped him again).

For some random unknown reason, Ratchet had paint cans. Teeny, tiny little canisters that could easily bust with just a squeeze. Knock Out had confiscated them and then convinced Jack to get him some other supplies.

He had a plan and he didn't want to go back on it. Even if the execution of said plan was a little trickier than he'd have liked.

All of which was why he now had two little makeshift desks made of crates sitting on either side of his legs while he himself sat on the side of the berth.

And on his lap was the canvas. Human sized for a human recipient.

This really should be easier than it was.

Scrap, this human paintbrush was hard to hold. He was a surgeon, for crying out loud, delicate servo work shouldn't be this hard-

He took a closer look.

Oh. Well, he could thank his surgeon servos. It wasn't turning out half bad.

Someone rapped on the wall outside the door and then walked in. Knock Out glanced up from his masterpiece's canvas and saw Arcee.

"Whatcha up to?" the two-wheeler asked.

He let the servo not currently holding the human sized paintbrush gesture at his work.

"Just making a little something," he replied casually.

Forced casual airs for something that could really well be far from truly light.

"Did you ever see those little paintings Miko and Bulkhead made for Breakdown and I?"

She glanced at where the colorful plates were sitting; currently they were on top of his stack of old datapads from the probation period.

"I saw them making them," Arcee answered with a shrug, "Never got to see the finished product though. Why?"

It wouldn't hurt to say. After all, the human kid's story got out this morning anyways.

They'd all reconvened except Optimus. According to Ratchet, he'd gone on a energon search to clear his mind. No one wanted him gone so soon after yesterday, but no one would say no to more energon. The team contained nine cybertronians at this point and they all strained at the energon reserves.

The humans had slept far through the day and then returned to base later. Apparently, Raf was the only one to go to school; as such, he'd crashed to sleep on the couch as soon as Bumblebee had arrived back with him. The Darby's, with Arcee, bridged in rather than drove. And Miko drove in quietly with Bulkhead; the usual blaring metal music absent and atmosphere subdued.

There wasn't a victory we-beat-those-slagging-guys party this time around. No one had felt like doing anything like that.

Without Optimus there, the conversations had felt somewhat stilted. Ratchet was avoiding all attention. Without either of them present or willing to speak, the team seemed directionless. Easy to fall into negativity.

The cons had always been a negative environment. It was one of the inspiring characteristics of Optimus to bring positivity and hope to even the darkest of situations.

They'd tried to do a debriefing now that everyone was awake again. After all, the team had questions about what had happened lately. Knock Out would've asked them jours before, after the fight had finished, but he had 1) been hiding from Ratchet's wrath and Optimus's grave disappointment and 2) seen that the rest of the team was acting like it would be 'tactless' to ask June Darby what Airachnid was up to and so he'd kept quiet too.

Mainly the first reason though, he wasn't too ashamed to admit.

The human told her side of the story quickly, up until the point where Airachnid was making the hostage call. Her son decided to go off on Ratchet at that point.

It was somewhat amusing to see such a tiny little being so angry. Still, Knock Out had known that the situation was anything but as funny as a part of him thought it was.

"_You made the right call, Ratchet,_" June had looked up at the medic, who was not returning her stare. "_Airachnid is sick. She told stories to pass the time. I...would never have forgiven myself if I'd been the reason she got access to a weapon like Tox-En_."

Breakdown had gone stiff besides him. His fists were clenched hard enough to creak.

Despite the compliment, Jack still frowned in Ratchet's direction and said nothing more to him. The interruption over with, his mother had kept going.

She'd talked about what little she saw of Airachnid's base (read: not much). She talked about what she'd thought she'd learned about the insecticon army (read: nothing useful, at least to Knock Out who rather despised the brutes where the woman sounded almost sympathetic towards them). She had started off on telling what stories Airachnid had told her- but the human couldn't seem to do it, Arcee had grown shellshocked, and Breakdown was grinding his fists together again. All things considered, it was probably good June didn't finish explaining what had happened to Tauii.

They'd briefly gone over the battle with M.E.C.H. (or lack thereof) and the insecticons.

"_What I don't get_-" Bulkhead had scratched at his head, looking like a bit of an idiot.

A loveable idiot, Knock Out had to admit. Although finding him talking uncomfortably with Breakdown while the medic was trying to deposit the sleeping Miko a few jours before made the speedster feel anything but love. So his partner thought his rival was more interesting than waiting around for Knock Out, did he? He'd done his best to clamp down on the jealousy and drop the teen off with her guardian.

Obviously he still remembered. He always was too good at holding grudges.

_"-is why the con dropped his remote after managing to kill so many of them? There shouldn't have been so many bugs to have knocked it away from him after that."_

In the pause that had followed, both Darby's looked at each other.

"_...in actuality, he didn't do that,_" June had tried. "_The three of us ran across it...and...I was the one who-_"

Whatever lie she'd been trying to say was cut off by Miko.

_"I did it."_

It seemed the extra jours had given her time to calm down about it. She hadn't looked anywhere close to unraveling like she had before with him. While the others showered concern and unhappiness and asked if she was okay, Miko kept her expression controlled.

And glared up at him where he stood further from the crowd.

He hadn't much liked what that glare made him feel.

"She came to me earlier," Knock Out finally answered Arcee, absently dabbing another dot of red onto the canvas. "She wanted to talk about the whole mass killing thing. I figured I'd try to repay her for the little 'welcome to the team' paintings."

The femme didn't question why the teen would have gone to him or why he'd decide on such an odd gift.

"That's thoughtful."

He could've preened. Well, he did straighten up and let his shoulder pads flex out. He couldn't help himself.

Arcee crossed the distance and sat down next to him, looking over the gift.

Currently, it was human sized, almost fully drawn, and just needing a second coat of paint to keep it vibrantly alive. She evaluated it for a moment and the medic ceased painting so that she could get a good look.

"That's a picture of you," Arcee sounded bemused.

Knock Out lifted a brow. "Well, so it is."

"And you don't think maybe Miko doesn't just want a pin-up of you to hang in her room?"

Didn't sound so bad to him.

The other autobot was shaking her head and chuckling. One of her servos reached over his arms to grab at a tiny brush.

"She probably wants it to be her and Bulk," the two-wheeler said and let the brush slip into the little pink vial. "So here, let's just have you ad-"

Knock Out watched in horror as she messed with his surprise gift. 'Messed' was too kind a word. He was thinking more along the lines of 'ruined'. The audacity!

If anyone passed down that hall to grab a cube from energon storage, they'd have heard the two scuffling.

"You monster! Look what you've done!"

Another sound of scuffling, a spilling vial crashing to the concrete, and the slight rip of canvas.

"Drama queen. I'm making it better!"

Another ripping noise. Knock Out's angry curses when he realized trying to push Arcee away was scratching at his own paint. More swearing.

They ended up making a new picture after the first was ruined by how they fought over it. The new one portrayed Knock Out and Miko with their arms crossed staring pointedly away from each other even as their proximity was tellingly close.

All things considered, it was a better gift than the original.

* * *

Vince Raider didn't understand why fate had it out for him.

He was supposed to be the richest kid in this part of nowhere. The only one with parents rich enough to buy him all the toys he wanted. The only one set out to get his college paid all the way through so that he could get some degree that would let him keep up with his progenitor's salaries someday.

This stupid high school was just practice for the real world. A world where he could show off all his assets and be sent to the top of the totem pole through them alone.

It had been working for a good chunk of time. One of the only decent looking chicks here was really into vehicles. He scored her by way of street racing and showing off his sports cars. The other redhead dated him for a while and she was another one of his perks to show off to the rest of the school. Let 'em eat up the show and bask in their jealousy. Maybe that sort of attitude was why she broke it off. But he knew she was a spotlight seeker just as much as he was.

And then the least likely kid to ever make it big showed up with a motorcycle.

It was a nice looking ride, Vince had to admit.

But a part of him really had to question how Jack Darby of all losers managed to snag a sweet ride like that with his KO Burger's paycheck.

Though he didn't want to admit to this either, Vince had taken to watching Jack. Seeing him be a total flop of a guy helped make the redhead feel better about somehow getting shown up by him.

Jack had friends just as weird as he was. There was the little twelve year old. Kid was a know it all in every respect and yet he still went outside to play with his toy cars. It was hilarious in how pathetic it was.

Until the kid somehow upgraded from toy cars to a Urbana 500. How the hell had his parents afforded that muscle car?

And then there was the cringy exchange student who'd almost gotten kicked out of the school a good four times now. She rode around in some dumb green suv like it was cool to do so.

That was Vince's one savings grace. Sure, Jack Darby had a motorcycle and, more recently, some streamlined two seater, and the Esquivel family had enough money to afford that yellow ride, but at least the weird foreign kid didn't impend on Vince's territory (ie: the realm of over-expensive cars).

And then he walked out of the high school building, shaking his head in laughter about some insult Sierra had just yelled at him, and saw the girl stepping into a shiny red Aston Martin.

An _Aston. Martin._

He just about broke the cell phone in his hand.

Obviously, fate was out to get him and any reputation he'd once had at this dumb town.

* * *

"Where's Bulkhead? Is he hurt? Why are you here?"

It was almost sad how ungrateful she was. Knock Out revved up his engine as a warning to get all the way in and started driving as soon as the teen's feet were both inside.

"The big guy is fine," he said over the radio, letting his irritation at being assaulted by so many suspicious questions seep through.

Miko slumped down into the passenger seat and crossed her arms.

"Oh yeah? Why are you here then?"

Neither bothered with seatbelts as Knock Out tore away from the school.

It was an odd feeling, really. He'd been there when Starscream had gotten the plan to steal the three kids to use as bargaining chips. After the war, he'd gotten to spend time in the new autobot base Unit:E had provided Ratchet and heard all about "The Days" when the bots used to go pick up the kids from school. It was surreal in its domesticity. It made him nostalgic for an experience he'd never had just from hearing the stories so often.

It was even more surreal to actually live out the experience for the first time.

"I asked if I could do the _honors_," Knock Out answered with equal amounts smarm and annoyance. Miko curled up her lip.

"Gross," she muttered at his tone before speaking loudly again. "What for?"

"Nothing, nothing," he lied.

They were shockingly quiet as he reached the edge of the town and tore off over the rural 'road'. Shocking, because neither were exactly known to be the quiet types.

On a different day, this probably would've been fun. By a given definition of 'fun'. Having a squishy sit inside him was not exactly the most pleasant of sensations.

They ended up settling on that as a conversation. Miko wanted to compare the feeling to wearing clothes or shoes; apparently, the feeling of material on skin ended up getting shoved aside by the human brain until it was no longer noticeable at all. Knock Out contended that his processor would never manage to ignore the feeling. They bickered thusly until they were driving under the outcropping and entering the base.

He went silent for a moment as they moved down the driveway. Judging by how she was fidgeting, Miko planned to escape the moment the car slowed enough.

"It wasn't nothing."

She glanced at the dash quizzically at his words. Funny how humans seemed to imagine his optics were in the dashboard or something. They were built to have two eyes and that was it; trying to understand beings with a different field of vision apparently wasn't worth the effort to the organics. Granted, he probably wouldn't bother either.

"I wanted to pick you up. I wanted to give you something."

Miko narrowed her gaze in suspicion that could very well have been staged for sarcasm. Didn't seem unusual for her.

"Back seat," he didn't wait for the sass to hit. "Right on the top."

The added direction prompted the teen forward. She crawled back and reached for the poster.

For a moment after sliding back into her seat, Miko just looked over the thing. Outside on the road, Knock Out's wheels turned while he sat motionless. Rather embarrassing for him to be this on the edge over hearing a squishy's reaction to his thoughtful gift.

"So, uh. What's this about?" she finally asked, not looking up from the picture.

"It's a very belated thank you for the one you gave me all that time ago. And it's for the other day. Hence the 'feel better soon' note on the bottom of it," he answered honestly.

For a minute, her hands clenched down on the canvas. Then they eased up. He took it as his cue to sidle forward, creeping closer and closer to the main room.

"Look," Knock Out would've been rolling his optics, had he been in rootmode. "Let's not avoid the fiasco. I'm touched, really, that you thought I was trustworthy enough to come spill your spar-er, heart to. Doesn't ignore the fact that I'm not the role model you should've gone after. But the two of us, we can both be on a learning curve when it comes to doing the right thing. Right? This whole team is here for us both whenever we need it."

There wasn't an immediate response. They slid out from the driveway into the main room before Miko did react next.

Then the teen punched his dash.

"Save the sappy speeches for Optimus," she mumbled with that usual sarcastic vocal edge.

Mission: success. Knock Out snorted out a laugh and popped the side door open for her. The kid scampered out and he transformed up to his pedes, instinctively brushing at his chestplates as if it could wipe away the feeling of having a passenger.

At the groundbridge controls, Ratchet glanced over one shoulder and met optics with him.

"Good. You're back." The older medic pointed at the medbay absently. "I want you to go over the simulations I wrote down on the main screen. Oh," he added in afterthought, "-regroup in here when Optimus comes back. He commed to say he has something important to talk with us all about."

That didn't sound ominous at all.

The last bit kept him from actually paying attention to any of the files Ratchet had wanted him to go over. In fact, he probably spent more time cleaning off his immaculate claws than he spent reading the older medic's written examples while he waited in suspense for the Prime to get back. There were a multitude of things the big guy could want to speak about and a good couple of them had to do with Smokescreen and his stunt two days earlier.

Knock Out had no desire to speak on that matter.

None at all.

Finally, after a half a jour of doing nothing but worry, the noise of a big rig driving in made him jump out of his thoughts. He slid out of the medbay to find Smokescreen and Wheeljack already waiting. The rest of the team trickled in by the time Optimus had transformed. The Prime looked over them all and then raised one arm to slide something off his back.

It wasn't a new cube of energon from his scouting.

It was the star saber; faint glowing lines being its only sign that it was still that same weapon that cleaved a mountain in half. Really, that moment had felt a whole lot more amazing and less worry-provoking when he was standing behind Optimus instead of sitting in the Nemesis's medbay while the whole ship shook.

"Optimus...What's the news Ratchet said we needed to hear?" Arcee spoke up first.

Instead of answering immediately, the Prime set the relic against the wall he stood by and left it there. The slight glow faded without his touch.

"I took the Iacon Relics to one of our vaults; there, I used the forge to repair the other relics," he started slowly, not quite looking at any of them.

It struck Knock Out that he seemed deep in thought. Almost like he had as he bid them all farewell at the edge of the well.

In other words, he was about to witness another magnanimous occasion. He wondered what it would be this time. Hopefully nothing as bad as the news delivered at the well of allsparks.

"Upon moving to leave, I took up the star saber again and received an ancient message."

Only Ratchet failed to look surprised. It seemed evident he had been told that much at least.

"_Wha-from who?"_ Bumblebee whirred in shock. Or as much shock as primal vernacular could exhibit at least.

"A message from Alpha Trion."

Well, that name meant very little to him.

"It is paramount that we recover the final four Iacon relics: the omega keys."

That did mean something to him. Not that it should have, without his extra lifetime's knowledge.

The others didn't recognize the name. They asked what the keys were; and to what locks they were intended.

"Keys? To what?"

He bit down on his lip to keep himself from answering before Optimus; but Knock Out knew what his response would entail long before the Prime said the words-

"The regeneration of our home world."

And this time? This time Cybertron wasn't going to become the post-war anti-Team Prime mess it had in his last life. This time, it would have Optimus around to keep the populace inspired. Surely, that would do the trick.

Or so Knock Out hoped at least.

* * *

AN- Having Vince's last name be Raider is a shoutout to his voice actor's last name.


	40. The Optimist and the Gladiator

In the height of Cybertron's pretentious and corrupt Golden Age, a quiet archivist begins corresponding with a bold gladiator.  
They rise together and fall apart.

_AN- Except for the very first section, this chapter is all flashback. References to other continuities abound. I did pull a lot of inspiration from their contradicting accounts about how the war started, but most of what's here came from what very little the show itself told us. In other words, I've taken liberties with the WFC canon._

_As a side note, quintessons bleed red in this verse._

* * *

The long war could end.

It could be over.

They all thought it could be. And he really did wish he could think the same.

Orion had always been an optimist. He'd been a hopeful, trapped in a world with more ugliness at every turned up stone, thrilled into action by the words of a gladiator.

Orion would have liked to think the war could end with the revival of their home world.

But Optimus knew what had killed their world to begin with. And if the war could have started on a living planet until it drove Primus to lifelessness, then it could wage on even with Cybertron's core living again.

The one who had shone light on all the wrong of that corrupt and ailing world also drove it to its death. So long as Megatron and the decepticon cause lived on, reviving the planet meant only a new chance for it to be killed once more.

Yet in his spark, Optimus believed this was the right path.

The right path for their planet.

The right path for his people.

The right path for him.

How good it was to be determined.

* * *

Orion had traded jobs multiple times over the vorns. He'd worked in the grand library itself, filing the different maps and books. He'd worked directly under Alpha Trion as an assistant.

Currently, he worked in the Hall of Records as an indexer for the communications Grid.

Just indexing. Analyzing was up to his coworker.

He was forbidden from doing that job.

But Orion was a curious mech. He hazarded a sneak once in a while (never at the private messages- he detested the fact that such unconsenting, naive private conversations were even recorded here), hoping that Alpha Trion's favor would keep punishment away should he be caught.

It helped that his coworker supported his occasional peek rather than trying to reveal his misdemeanors.

Nothing tended to come of this back and forth until the day that Orion indexed hundreds of the same transmissions.

"Jazz."

The bigger mech glanced over with a quizzical 'hm?'.

"These transmissions. They're coming from Kaon and being broadcasted all over the planet." Orion blinked at the officer. "Why?"

"Don'tcha know?" Jazz grinned. "We got a real celeb over there. Calls himself Megatronus."

Orion turned back to the screen and frowned thoughtfully.

It was not his job to read transmissions; merely to organize and file and then send them on their way to Jazz.

It was not his job. It was not his place.

Orion Pax decoded the transmissions and read.

* * *

The pits of Kaon were a dark stain on the pretentious perfection of the golden age.

In some ways, Orion admired its brutal honesty. At least the arena played no games with what it was; it was not like the castes and councils pretending to be so wonderful while oppressing the rest.

Still, he could not help but cringe away from every act of violence on the arena floor.

As an archivist for Alpha Trion himself, Orion had been allowed a seat in one of the reserved boxes rather than being forced to stand with the poor crowds below.

He did not like the box. He did not like standing above all others.

And he did not like the show.

First there came two gladiators. Both were cybertronians. Both were dirty and stained with rust that shouldn't have been there.

His doctor friend Ratchet would be clenching his fists at the sight. He'd probably be telling Orion exactly what ailments the two cybertronians were suffering from.

But Orion had not come with Ratchet. His friend would not find any joy watching the arena fights. The archivist would not either, but he believed it important to come. He wished to see the mech who was spreading revolutionary ideas across Cybertron.

And the best way to do it was to watch.

One of the rusty cybertronians drove his axe into the spark of the other and the crowds roared in thrill. What thrill? All Orion felt was sickness. That gladiator was dead. Could they not realize that? This was no game. This was the horror Ratchet faced on the streets every cycle; the horror that drove his friend to high grade whenever he could not save a dying homeless and hopeless mech.

The victor was ushered away by two guards. The guards were clean of rusts and ailments. They were nearly pristine and wore the spiky ornaments of Kaon.

So the gladiator ring operated on a caste as well. The fighters lay at the bottom, the guards above, and whatever overseers operating the ring sat atop the mountain of pain and death basking in the riches their audiences offered; was that not so?

The next fighter was slim and faceless. On their legs and chest lay empty spots; this was a symbiote carrier. Fighting to the death? Orion fought back another wave of repulsion. At least their symbiotes were not forced into the ring. Or perhaps they were dead already- the archivist shuttered his optics to restrain himself.

He stopped watching the battles. It was too difficult, too painful, to continue witnessing the destruction all the while those around him cheered.

But he brought his attention back with the cheering changed tones. Mechs were stomping their pedes to a unified beat. Some were chanting out a name while a much smaller amount of viewers booed.

The air was electric. A thousand mechs waiting for the grand event; or, perhaps like him, waiting for the words of the mech entering the ring.

His frame was intimidating. Gray like the dead, claws bared and horrid looking, spikes rising from his plating in true kaonite style. There was little rust on this one. He was too high on the totem pole, too valuable to the bosses, to leave in the filth of disease.

The mech looked up over the crowd. There were vicious scars littered on his face plate. They should have added to his dark intimidation. But Orion thought that the face beyond those wicked looking scars was peaceful.

For a moment, he believed the gladiator would speak now. Tell the crowd of their own bloodlust.

But with a spark chilling screech, a techno-organic beast tore through the opposite gates and the gladiator was forced to spring into battle.

Orion did not watch the fight. If the other gladiators had been brutal, then Megatronus was a being of death.

But he looked back when the beast gave its last moan. The gladiator was stepping up onto its massive back, raising his arms to address the crowd. So this was where he delivered those speeches that were shared by so many anonymous citizens over the Grid? Right from the floor of the pit?

Three guards were coming forward. Their approach was brisk with urgency as they moved for Megatronus to retrieve him. To retrieve; to drag away; to silence. Orion frowned.

The crowd had gone quiet and their silence was disturbingly stark from the chanting of before. Someone shouted down to the gladiator, who laughed from the floor.

"I have your attention, it seems-" he mused from the floor.

No wonder others had listened so rabidly. That was the most commanding voice he had ever heard.

One of the guards reached up to the mech atop the monster and tried to tug at his arm. As big as the enforcer was, the task seemed futile without Megatronus's willingness to be pulled away.

"-but it also seems I am not wished to speak to you today. Alas-" the gladiator laughed again, flashing a glimpse of fangs. "And here you seem almost more willing to pay your credits for my humble speeches than to watch me fight for my life."

Judging by the captivated crowd, Megatronus was almost correct. Orion looked over the others in their seats and boxes. Some were smirking, fingering their energon globules and watching with haughty amusement. They were here to see the gladiator, not to listen. There to get entertainment watching one who thought he could break down the caste system that kept them at the top, not to be convinced to set this cruel system aside.

Some were leaning forward over the rails in captivation. A few of these even seemed to be in despair that the speech they came to see would not be delivered. Some seemed merely fascinated; a pet had learned a new party trick that almost made it look sentient, how intriguing was that? They made Orion feel almost as ill as the brutal shedding of energon had earlier.

But his sympathies joined those who wanted to hear. Some were the low class, the poor just rich enough to afford tickets. Some were nobles that looked as though they wanted to consider setting aside the title.

He was not poor nor was he a true noble. It did not matter what his class was. Orion wanted the caste system gone. He wanted this pit, with its slaves forced to fight for their energon and basic treatment, gone.

He wanted to hear the words he had read across the transmissions from Jazz's desk delivered in that commanding voice.

"My keepers are here to retrieve me because they do not see me as a mech. Not like you are seen as."

Megatronus had allowed himself to be pulled from the corpses back but had stopped still once he reached the floor. Two guards had a hold on both his arms, but it seemed Orion was correct in his earlier guess; they were not truly strong enough to tug him away. Not without resorting to weaponry. One had reached for a stasis baton from his subspace but he had not used it. Even these enforcers understood that using such weaponry would only further the gladiator's earlier arguments.

"But none of you are as free as you assume-" the gray mech called up to the crowd. "You all bow under someone or something's weight and your regrettable position has led you to live in denial of that fact. My overseers will take me now," Megatronus grinned darkly, "-and you will see each restrain and step. But you will leave without letting your blindness fall from your optics. You will leave and refuse to acknowledge who _your_ overseers are."

Some of the earlier amused nobles were frowning now. One nearby had snapped the glass of his energon cube and not yet noticed how the drink had spilled all over his polish.

"Until you let the truth in, your masters will be able to tug you around far more than my guards can tug me."

And with that, the gladiator let himself be dragged away into the gate leading to the fighter's quarters.

Orion did not like the pits of Kaon. He did not like their brutality or their darkly accepted bloodsport.

But the archivist returned to the next fight Megatronus was scheduled in.

He went back over and over until he would watch with half shuttered optics as the gladiator fought whatever opponent the arena owners had set against him.

The sickening violence was worth the words that were always spoken afterwards.

* * *

It did not take long for the arena staff to realize what opportunity they had. Instead of trying to bar Megatronus from speaking, they sold such thoughts. Cybertronians could pay to receive tickets to a newly constructed stage outside the pits. There, the champion of Kaon was escorted to the platform to speak to all those who paid to listen.

He was just as charismatic on the stage as he had been on the floor of the arena. Though the platform was small, Megatronus prowled on top of it. The restrictions of space would not stop him from making the stage his own. Though the guards and arena staff stood nearby at the ready, his words were unfiltered.

And though he looked terrifying, there was an incredible presence about him that drew people in rather than scared them away.

Orion felt that every coin spent to attend these speeches were worth it.

Once, he had moved to do his work humming in distraction. Jazz had noticed the odd attitude and laughed at him.

"What's your glitch, mech?" he'd asked.

The archivist had answered honestly enough: he'd been seeing the talks from that kaonite revolutionary. Jazz's expression hadn't fallen.

"Oy yeah, him. He's the real deal, ain't he?"

And Orion couldn't help but feel like he was.

The lack of angry disapproval from Jazz prompted him to take the next step. Before, he had planned to do it in secret. Many of those in the Hall of Records hated the words of social change spoken by Megatronus. Orion was ashamed to admit that he feared those mech's. He did not wish to have his job taken away from him, to be thrown onto the streets like those patients Ratchet found in Rodian's Dead End. It was shameful to have such fear but he could not help it; he was meek by nature.

If only he could be as brave as Megatronus. What would it be like to have the courage to speak up against the world's problems when the government was trying to hide them? What would it be like to be bold enough to fight against this cruel caste system?

Orion wanted to know.

He wanted to help.

One cycle, instead of indexing transmissions, he crafted a message to the gladiator and sent it to the pits.

* * *

Ratchet always knew when he had gotten a note from Megatronus. Said it was something to do with a bounce in his step or a tiny smile perpetually there while Orion daydreamed absently.

His medic friend liked to tease him some cycles. On other cycles, he looked bitter.

"He's changing you, you know," the medic said over a can of high grade they'd gotten at a place called, uncreatively, _Swerve's_. Earlier in the cycle, Ratchet had ran across a mech who'd gotten into a fist fight with an enforcer. He'd lost an arm and a good chunk of inner machinery doing so. Try as he might, the medic had not saved the young bot.

Orion had been there to spend the cycle with his friend. He'd watched the medic working over the shivering patient.

The dirty yellow bot had patted Ratchet on the cheek and tried to shove him away at one point.

"t's okay," he'd rasped with a pained smile, "I had nothin' to live for anyway. Lived on the streets, woulda died on 'em too. Least I got to go out with a bang."

If a 'bang' could mean a slow death in a unfunded hospital.

The mech was just another precursor of the coming storm. Cybertron was breaking at the seams; it had been since the start of what they tried to call the Golden Age. Orion could see its flaws, its dark stains, its crushing regimes.

The world needed to break if that was the only way to fix it. But he still hoped that a solution could come peacefully.

Megatronus spoke of peace. He had every ability to fight, every ability to act as the street mech had and attack those who oppressed him, and yet he spoke instead.

If he was changing Orion like Ratchet proclaimed, then it was only for the better.

Later that cycle, the archivist had returned to his apartment and wrote as much to the gladiator. If he had not been overcharged, he would never have spoken so boldly. Megatronus did not seem offended. In fact, his response was excited.

Slightly too excited, a sobered Orion had to admit after reading it upon waking from recharge.

_Your passion is most motivating. I wish there were more willing to stand up like you._ He'd paused in writing to think on how best to phrase the next part. _However, I must admit to being confused over your suggestion regarding the council. It does not seem clear to me what you were implying._

He returned to the Hall of Records and did his job without comment. None there except Jazz and Alpha Trion knew of his communique with the gladiator. None suspected him of doing what they would call conspiring.

When his shift was over, Orion was happy to see he already had a response in his private messages.

_I apologize,_ the reply came written in amused glyphs._ I am a speaker, not a writer. It is hard for me to explain my thoughts across such texts._

_Perhaps we should meet in person to discuss my suggestions for a reworked government._

Orion could not contain the thrill of nervous excitement that ushered in.

Megatronus had become a bit of a hero to him since listening to his few speeches. He had become a bit of a mentor across these written conversations, shedding a light on the areas of Cybertron the archivist had not been able to see before.

But he had worried the chance to truly speak with the silver mech would not come. Either because the arena would not allow him to visit their prize fighter or because his coworkers would catch wind of his departure to speak with the one they detested of late.

Yet he had just now received confirmation that both of them were willing to move past these obstacles.

A part of him felt he should not be surprised. If Megatronus spoke against the corruption of Cybertron fearlessly, he would not be daunted by some small barrier.

_If only he could be as brave_

* * *

They had met one day in the small room the gladiator called his own.

Or couldn't, rather. It was the overseer's room.

"Everything in here belongs to them," Megatronus swept his arm around the ornaments and sparse comforts of the cell. "Including, of course, _me_."

He was watching how Orion reacted. It was a silent test. One that the archivist seemed to pass when the gladiator gave a small grunt of approval.

"You do not like that, do you?"

It was rhetorical. He gave a small nod regardless.

Megatronus smiled. His dentae were sharp, vicious, dangerous. Orion did not feel threatened.

It was not the mech's fault that he looked so frightening when trying to act amiable.

"I like you," the gladiator declared. "You aren't blinded by all the slag your fellow iaconians no doubt try to condition you into believing."

The mech looked away to stare at the wall in front of him. Or rather, to stare through it. His gaze was distant, thoughtful.

"From what I have gathered, I am reaching the populace of Kaon quickly. Vos is holding out on my words, like the entitled nobility that they are. And Iacon is similarly ignorant; though, unlike Vos, their blindness is a conscious decision."

There was a brief moment of silence. Orion had no wish to break it; he was here to learn, not to interrupt.

"Kaon is full of warriors from the Age of Wrath. They look at me and see someone like themselves. A warrior, brutal, efficient, honest. They do not see the faceless miner I was forged as." Megatronus emitted a bark of laughter. "I had no name. Neither did many of them. I took a name and made a place for myself. So did many of them. Kaon will revere me as their spokesperson soon enough. But Vos? Iacon?"

This, too, was rhetorical. Orion answered anyways.

"They see you as unruly, a rebel."

"They want to put me down," the gladiator grinned at him.

He smiled, or rather smirked, quite a lot. Orion determined it was a part of what made him so charismatic.

"Crude terminology," the archivist shuffled, "-but I am afraid it is true."

The other's blue optics narrowed down, not hostilely but analyzing. Then the large mech stepped nearer and let a large servo land on his shoulder.

"Iacon is the home of the council. It is the birthplace of the caste system. It is the origin of corruption. Convincing them to see the disease they themselves have wrought will be difficult. Especially," he added as though in afterthought, "-if the words come from someone who looks like the poster mech of Kaon."

Did he mean..?

"I have been searching for someone native to Iacon," Megatronus started up again softly. "Someone my words would reach and who would share my dreams for this planet. Our long distance conversations led me to believe that someone could be you. I needed to meet you to determine."

...he did.

"Orion Pax."

The archivist stared unblinkingly into the other mech's blue gaze.

Passion met hope.

"I could use an ally like you."

* * *

It had not taken long for Megatronus to gain the fame needed to break away from the arena. His former overseer had been furious. The former gladiator had appeased him with almost all of his credits- enough to buy his own contract off and the contract of another gladiator's.

It was this which allowed Orion the chance to meet his new companion's closest ally. A mech named Soundwave.

The carrier he'd seen on the arena floor once.

Soundwave did not have symbiotes for every docking bay on his lanky body. As Orion had feared before, most of those minibots had deactivated.

Only one had been murdered, a horridly common occurrence in the slums of Kaon. The rest had starved. Cybertron had less energon than it ever had in the past. The supplies were mined only by contracted groups and went only to those who had paid for the life fuel. While the high ranks and nobles swam in energon, the homeless were not given any. And stealing was, in most cases, a capital offense.

Despite their carrier's attempts to give them his own energon, their money-less state had eventually driven the little symbiotes one by one to their death. By the time that only two remained, Soundwave had taken a contract in the pits out of sheer desperation.

Not that Orion learned all this upon their first meeting. No, the first time they had met left the archivist knowing near nothing about the blank mech.

But later conversations, as short as they tended to be, revealed some of his story. And Megatronus shared the rest.

The first time all three had convened together had been outside the gray mech's new home. While most of his small funds had gone to buying his and Soundwave's freedom, the rest had gone into this slum apartment.

There was an assassination attempt the first night.

There were far less after that. Orion himself had not been able to look at the mauled remains of the first hired crew. Iaconian hunters, no doubt hired by a someone (perhaps even a senator), skilled but foolish; they should have watched the pitfights. Perhaps they would not have attempted battle with these two gladiators if they had.

Orion had been asked to visit soon after Megatronus had found a home. Upon arriving, he had to blink at the excuse for an apartment. Somehow, the cells of the pits seemed larger and more inviting. Megatronus had laughed at his words when he had said so. Behind him, Soundwave merely watched, peeking around the side of the larger gladiator. It was only then that Orion had even noticed the other mech.

"Oh," he piped up, "Hello."

Megatronus moved and any cover he had been providing before left.

The stranger didn't say anything. That didn't deter Orion. He may be meek himself, but he still tried his best to fight what shyness he had in order to help other mech's.

"I'm Orion," he said.

A moment later and the emaciated mech rasped out his own reply. "Designation: Soundwave."

Primus, that voice was deeper than he'd expected. Once again, Megatronus seemed to be laughing (this time far more silently) over how Orion had jumped in surprise.

Despite further attempts to engage the carrier, the self-designated Soundwave did not speak with him again. But he had not left either; understandable, since this small apartment did not exactly offer multiple rooms to retreat to for privacy.

That was likely why Megatronus determined to leave.

"Walk with me," he offered and began to stride down the cluttered street. They left Soundwave behind in the doorway, blank visor watching.

"I want to speak with you in private," the revolutionary said once they had turned the corner from the shack.

In truth, Orion did as well. But he thought it rude to say so in front of the third mech. He felt a need to defend the stranger from possible insult.

"I do not think Soundwave would interrupt us."

That earned another laugh.

"No, I don't believe he would. He is quiet," the silver mech grinned. "Rather like you, Orion."

And quiet he was. So very different from the bold volume of the mech who'd sparked so much talk of change lately.

"But that's not the entire reason I wished to leave him behind."

Was that so? Orion fell silent in curiosity and let the gladiator direct their walk.

"I have not told him of my plan yet." Megatronus led them to the edge of the street so that they could back into one of the dirty alleyways. Filthy, full of sorrow, hopelessness, and the dead- and also as private a place as they could manage. "I want to speak to you first of it."

A hint of dread rose with the excitement. Was this to be a crossroads? Was this a moment that would change his life? Or, more importantly, the world?

"What is it?" he whispered.

"Your research in Iacon has been invaluable to me," the other replied. "Thanks to your work, I have come to understand the way this planet's government and culture function now. And the ways they functioned in the past."

Just as they had many times before, the two delved into a conversation about the current structure and what changes could be made to it.

But this time, Megatronus had a new piece to add.

"The council has split its attention and grown complacent in their power. Cybertron stifles and rusts under them. We call this the Golden Age but it is far from golden or self sustaining. The quintessons were corrupt rulers. The council is little better. We must return to an earlier time; the only leaders that could truly be said to have ushered in a golden age."

He lowered his voice even more although they were still in the empty alley.

But Orion had noticed that about his companion. Megatronus was a paranoid mech. It hurt the archivist to witness, but he could not deny that the paranoia did have some grounds to it; there were many important people who wanted the revolutionary dead.

"We need a Prime," he finished.

"And..." Orion started up before his thoughts had even caught up with his voice. "...you?"

The silver mech smiled again. It was confirmation.

"Megatronus Prime," Orion tried out the name with wide optics. The other mech's optics were flickering all over his expression, waiting to see what the archivist's reaction would be. He seemingly found what he was looking for.

"Megatronus Prime!" the archivist repeated with more enthusiasm and then it was him who was grinning. "Oh how I hope to see such a thing!"

His uncommonly unfiltered glee was shared. Had they been younger, more foolish, mechs, the atmosphere may have invited them to dance around. As it was, neither were fools and this alley was still littered with those victims of starvation Kaon had. It would have been highly inappropriate to their memories.

Finally, Orion had to break the moment of excitement. "But there are connotations with that name that some will undoubtedly be uncomfortable with."

Megatronus smirked. "That may be the case, but those critics have already found issue with the name I took while still in the pits. I doubt more will be upset just by seeing the full name of The Fallen once more at the head of their planet."

"Whatever the case," the archivist said slowly, "I know who you are and it is not a figurehead from the past. You are in the present; you are our future."

The other's blue optics sparkled at such praise. Orion did not notice the hunger there or he did not yet feel reason to fear it.

"I will be the Prime, but you-" the silver mech purred, "-you will be at my side no matter how high I rise. We will rise, together. You will be my adviser no matter what power I gain."

The idea of standing beside a Prime and helping heal this planet step by step did make the archivist's spark ache with longing.

"But how will we go about this?" he asked.

Finally, their optic contact broke as Megatronus looked down with a shake of his head.

"We must inspire the people to it. And after gaining their support, we must go to the senate. That I dread doing; they may not take to mere words. Action will quite possibly be necessary."

"One step at a time," Orion set a servo on the other's arm. The action brought the scarred face up again. "First, we reach out to the public. Your speeches are already going across the Grid. Some are transcribed and others are published as raw footage itself."

It was those transcriptions that had first brought him in. Even now, he believed citizens still read them. He knew he did.

"I will be going to a public debate soon at the central platform of this sector," Megatronus said. "I was invited by the officials as soon as I cut off from the pits."

He made a note to himself to watch this debate. As reserved as he liked to be, he would still show his support.

"Iacon will not likely broadcast that," Orion frowned. "They will call it too local to this sector. You need to find another way to reach out to them all."

The gladiator flashed fangs again. "Perhaps I could _convince_ them to let me speak there."

Seeing him lecture in Orion's home city was a thrilling thought. But no-

"Not yet. You need to make a credible name there first." The archivist went quiet with thought. Then he perked up again. "Writings! Make written compositions on your ideals and proposals. They will be just as revolutionary as your speeches in the pits were, but I can get them published to more citizens than would have access to your Grid transmissions!"

After all, his coworkers in the Grid communications hub were already being told to scrub out the anonymous uploads.

Megatronus shook his head with an almost inaudible snort. "You forget, Orion, that my writing is far less potent than my speech. I was not taught to make prose with an impact. I cannot even bring my points across clearly at all times when writing. And the words come to me when I speak aloud; they do not when I try in the silence of solitude to transcribe them down."

He wanted to protest. It was Megatronus's writings that had drawn him in, after all! The responses given, the back and forth of ideas, back before Orion had ever even met the gladiator.

But he also knew that it was, in part, true. The nobles of Iacon would laugh at Megatronus's ideas. _'You want to follow him? He does not even know proper phonetics! This fool is uneducated, a ruffian; he will not lead you to anything more glorious than we already have.'_ As faulty a logical argument as that was, it would still sway many of those who would otherwise sit on the fence.

And so Orion thought of another idea.

"Then give your words as speeches," he offered. "Deliver them to me and I will dictate for you."

The gray mech's lips parted in surprise.

"I swear, I will not interfere. I will only record what you say and mean; should a sentence be confusing or lack a certain impact, I will edit it- but only with your permission! It will still be yo-"

"I trust you will inscribe the words," the gladiator interrupted. Megatronus set a servo on his arm. "I trust in you."

If only he had.

* * *

After the second round of books had been published, Megatronus (or Megatron, as he had decided to go by now; it seemed the connotations relating to The Fallen had made a bigger impact on his public relations than the silver mech had wanted to admit in that alleyway) had obtained enough donations to his campaign to buy a better home. Half of this large apartment was quickly changed from a private home to an office space. That had been Orion's idea; let the public come to him. Let them see he was approachable and let them hear his answers to their questions.

So far, there had been no attempted murders in this office. Perhaps Soundwave's presence besides the door, along with two bulky seekers who had recently fallen for Megatron's persuasive rhetoric, discouraged such hostilities. Or perhaps the desire to see him killed was waning. Orion hoped it was the latter.

Certainly, there were more interested supporters these cycles.

One new face, for instance, was just leaving the office. The archivist had been waiting outside for the chance to speak with his friend. The door slid aside and a seeker walked past him, never sparing Orion a glance. It was that- the attitude of blindness towards those of no consequence- that left the archivist believing that the stranger had been a noble. The high class liked to pretend those of lower castes did not deserve optic-contact.

He had been small, like most vosian's were. His paints were flashy reds and blues, rather like Orion himself but with far more white included. And decorative accessories were draped over the lithe mech. Synthetic materials from the offworld colonies hung off the mech's back in the space between wings, fluttering like thin capes behind him.

It was another sign of nobility; especially of vosian nobility. The more important one was, the higher they were in one of the towers and the more jewels and capes they were bedecked with.

Orion stepped into the room after the seeker had disappeared through the far door. Soundwave let him enter without anything more than a nod.

Megatron was waiting behind his desk, writing something on a datapad. It made the archivist smile. Despite being his clerk still, Orion had noticed that the revolutionary was picking up the very writing he had before detested. And as someone who wrote or filed writings for a living, he felt confident in declaring that Megatron's poetry was beautiful.

So very unexpected from such an intimidating frame. But the world was starting to realize what Orion had long before: that Megatron was anything but expected.

The silver mech set aside the pad to look up at him. Orion pointed behind himself at the door he'd just entered through.

"Who was that?

"Jealous?" Megatron flashed a teasing smile. After letting the tease drop away, he answered: "That was an important energon seeker of Vos. A prospective Winglord, in fact. Goes by the name of Starscream. He holds great influence in that city state."

So they were reaching Vos then. That was good news.

And Orion needed good news. It seemed the world grew darker every cycle. Alpha Trion had begun to isolate himself in worry. Ratchet was cynical of everything, including the gladiator's good intentions. Jazz had started to disappear frequently and every time his desk was empty, Orion worried that the bright mech had been caught and killed; he had, after all, begun to heavily assume the blue mech was a spy. Megatron grew more paranoid with every new step into the spotlight.

His friends were in pain. The archivist wished he could help.

And he did believe he was helping. That his position helping the revolutionary was going to heal this dying world.

They conversed until a new subject arose.

A subject Orion had heard Ratchet rave about before.

War.

"I cannot believe that we are so far gone only war could save us," Orion shook his head.

He missed how Megatron's fist curled on the desktop and then loosened.

"Should it come to that', I said. You cannot just ignore the option."

And he couldn't- not with how Alpha Trion acted and Ratchet spoke doom and gloom. But that did not mean he had to endorse it.

"Kaon and Iacon are on the brink of hostilities," Megatron continued. "Every cycle, more and more of Iacon's oppression is revealed to the public. This city hordes the energon reserves of Cybertron for its own recreational use. If Kaon will not be allowed its share, it will have to take it by force."

Orion grimaced.

"Surely there is still a better way..."

"Of course there is," the silver mech soothed. "But if it should come down to it, I want you to be prepared. You must know how to fight, for your own protection and because...well, I'd like for you to fight by my side."

It was that last phrase, with its unhidden longing, that made the archivist waver most.

"_If_ it comes down to it," he finally granted slowly. "But-"

"But what, Orion?" Megatron slammed his palms down and stood up.

It occurred to him that the former gladiator was quite tall. Very much taller than him. The passive mech felt himself wither in the knees; his determined will kept him upright.

"'Should we let Iacon continue to steal our fuel? Starscream did not think so. He is a primary source of this city's energon and knows better than any of us how much of his finds actually are brought back to Vos. Let alone Kaon. That is _my_ city, Orion. Those are my people. And they starve on my streets. The young and old alike. Do you think Soundwave's symbiotes deserved to die? Do any of them?"

There was no pause in words to let Orion answer.

"I cannot allow it," the bigger mech finally seemed to calm. "If the council will not allow me to be the Prime, if they will not listen to reason, then I-we-cannot allow it to stand."

The spark in his chest was aching. He wasn't sure if it was out of fear or pain or inspiration.

"And I cannot allow this planet to fall into war. I want no part in starting hostilities. Should they arise, I will fight by your side. But I do not condone the start of such aggression."

Megatron ran a servo down his face. Orion could hear how his vents exhausted themselves. He was upset. Well, so was the archivist. But anger and hurt were a sad fact of life. He reached forward to set a calming hold on the larger mech.

"Please, do not be upset," Orion murmured. "It is inevitable that we clash on some issues. I will not try to force my ideals on you."

The silver mech's frame still shook. But Megatron put a frizzing arm around the smaller bot. It was overheated.

"What do you mean?" he asked from above the archivists head.

Such ignorant confusion seemed almost innocent. It made him smile, just a bit. Most people would already know what he had meant. But most people did not start as slaves in a mine that rose to planetary celebrities.

"People do not always have to agree," Orion reassured, looking up. "Disagreeances are a part of life; a part of individual freedom. We will not be hurt by differing our opinions on this matter anymore than we have to force our own opinions on the rest of Cybertron."

The expression on his companion's face did not visibly change and yet something in it did seem to stiffen.

"I'm afraid we'll have to disagree there," Megatron quipped back.

Orion thought it was a joke and so he laughed.

* * *

The hospital was small. It contained only three floors. Most of those on the grand streets of Iacon contained up to twenty.

But the staff here was smaller. A few were medics in training. A few had never received training, having been too poor to afford such schooling, and these medics hid from the authorities when patrols came for inspections.

Not that many inspections came. The enforcers couldn't care less about this hospital. Just like they did not care for its patients.

Though he had never told the mech this, Orion thought Ratchet's greatest quality was the fact that he did care. He could've been the most renowned doctor on Cybertron but he turned down fame in order to treat those mechs the planet tried to ignore.

At the moment, the medic was not working on any patients. He was busy lecturing the clerk instead.

"He's a nightmare-" Ratchet was snapping. "There are problems enough as is. But he wants to start a war! We've got enough mech's dying daily."

The archivist tried to brush the medic's pointing servo away from where it was jabbing into his chestplates.

"Please, listen to me. He's not trying-"

Ratchet interrupted him hostilely. "Oh yes, because he's such a soft, gentle mech. Don't be an idiot! He's been violent his whole life; you can't deny that!"

"I know; I have seen him in the pits," Orion replied with the slightest hint of a smile.

No, he did not like the violence. But Megatron was still inspiring to watch.

If he could fight like that...well, he'd be able to defend himself from any threat.

The admission made his friend throw up his arms in exasperation and turn away to mutter at his desk. While he waited for Ratchet to cool down, the clerk looked over the medbay. There was only one other patient in this part of the medbay. Normally there were not any.

"Who is that?" Orion pointed at a small mech laying in stasis on a medical berth. He drew the archivists' optics because of how the berth was situated closer to Ratchet's desk than it normally would be. A new coat of paint lay fresh on the unconscious mech. It would rub off on the street as soon as the patient was released into destitution again.

There were very fair reasons for the cynicism Ratchet had picked up lately.

"An addict we picked up out of the_ Dead End,_" the medic followed his digit to the patient. "Most of the homeless there fall to nuke and other stimulants."

It made Orion cringe in sympathy. He knew well enough of the condition of those who fell outside the caste, unable to ever crawl in. And he knew how his friend felt about those victims.

Ratchet took personal responsibility for all those his team pulled from the streets.

And he grieved when they returned right back to the only option they had set in front of them by the world of nobles.

"I spoke with him before you came in, actually," Ratchet spoke up again.

The archivist looked away from the patient to stare politely at his friend.

"He had quite a bit to say about the revolution; almost as obsessed with Megatron as you are. Apparently he's a big fan of your lover."

"Ratchet!" Orion protested, frame heating suddenly. While his fans picked up faster, the archivist made an unhappy frown at the victorious grin Ratchet was shooting him.

The tease. Even with the guilt racking up in the medic over those he failed to save from death, Ratchet still liked to make biting comments. Normally, Orion was too timid for that kind of banter. With Ratchet, he did not mind.

"But in all seriousness..." the medic lost his mirth.

"Don't start this again," the younger mech groaned.

Ratchet was up in his face in a moment.

"The Lesser Hall of Records in Vos," he jabbed a digit into Orion's chest. "Bombed this cycle. The culprits painted a certain purple symbol over the ruins. Do you recognize the sound of that?"

Of course he did. As archaic as The Fallen's mark was in recent cycles, Orion knew Cybertron's history in and out. He had read every file in his workspace.

"Just because Megatron took on The Fallen's name does not mean he has taken that symbol," the archivist gently pushed Ratchet's offending fingers away.

"And just because you're star struck by a celebrity doesn't mean you're stupid!"

As unused to confrontation as he was, Orion stepped back.

"Wh-"

"He's using you, Orion." Ratchet grew somber and the expression he'd level on the archivist broke the younger mech's spark. "He wants a revolution. He wants these terrorists. He wants a war."

_I'd like for you to fight by my side-_

Surely, it was not expected. It was a worst case scenario.

_And you will be at my side-_

No ifs or buts. You will

In his mind, Orion connected the two separate statements.

_You will fight by my side._

"I-I do not believe that," the archivist said. "He does not want war. He wants peace."

Ratchet shook his head.

"_'Peace through tyranny'._ Have you missed that part?"

* * *

Megatron was not in Orion's apartment when he returned from the council meeting. Strange. He had stayed there previously. It was closer to the senate than the place Megatron had found near the border of Iacon.

But more strange was how he had disappeared in the meeting.

At the time, Orion had not thought much of it. He was far too busy reeling from their words. From Alpha Trion's pride at the suggestion.

The Primehood. The Primehood...

It was not for him. It couldn't be.

He'd felt humbled to the very ground.

Only after he'd asked for more time to think it over did Orion notice that he was alone on the floor. Megatron was gone.

The clerk searched the senate building for any sign of his companion. He searched his home.

Nothing. It was unnatural. It made his spark clench in dread.

He was not a Prime (not yet, a part of him piped up). He could not have visions or premonitions.

This dread he felt was nothing of importance.

Orion traveled to the outskirts and climbed the steps to Megatron's temporary habsuite. A part of him worried the mech would be gone.

Gone where? Perhaps back to Kaon. He did not know. He did not know why the other had disappeared in the first place.

It had been their dream to speak with the senate. It had been _Megatron's_ dream. Why had he left it? Left Orion?

His knock received no answer but the door was not locked. Orion slipped into the dark living room.

The first sight he noticed were the optics.

They glowed in the dim room, as all optics would; but instead of the friendly blue he had grown so accustomed to, the optics looking back at him from the seat were a blazing red.

Without thinking, Orion commented on it.

"Your optics...what happened?" he stepped closer into the room until he was near the place Megatron was seated. Those massive servos with their dangerous claws flexed and he stopped short. Immediately he scolded himself. He should not feel threatened. This was his mentor, his friend. Why would Megatron threaten him?

The usual smile was absent. Megatron's optics narrowed as he addressed the clerk. "Those of us who fought off the quintessons rose up around the color red; the color of their filthy blood we aimed to shed. I am done ignoring that heritage," his answer came as a growl.

If the flexing claws were not a threat, surely the growl was not...

"All this time," Megatron looked down at his servos and shook his head, "I have tried to ignore the past. I've tried to ignore what Cybertron created me to be. I've tried to ignore how easily I was sent back into oppression after helping end the alien regime. I've tried, because it was what all good little mechs did. And my dreams could only be accepted if I played by their rules."

Half of Orion wanted to step forward and offer worried comfort.

The other half wanted to walk from this room and the dark tones within it.

"What good did that do?" Megatron snapped, looking up at the archivist. "My dreams are spat on. My ideals mocked. I became everything this planet needed and it threw me away! It threw me away- _for you."_

But-

But Orion had not asked for the Primehood.

"Megatron..." he said softly. "I did not accept it. It is not mine to take. Please, believe me. I never meant to-"

"To what?" the other snarled.

He couldn't help but let his words go silent as his mouth parted in shock at the tone.

"Why are you here, Orion?"

The archivist took a slight step back.

"What?" his voice was weak. It was always weak. He was weak. But that was his strength.

They were a balanced team. Orion was peaceful where Megatron was bold. They were supposed to play to each other's strengths, not-

Not this.

Megatron's lip was curling into a dangerous sneer.

"You're a pet of the council," he leered. "Run home to them. Run, Orion. Leave me."

The ache sharpened until it felt as though his mind would tear apart. This was fear. This was undeniably fear. He was not supposed to be afraid of this mech. He was supposed to be safe.

"Megatron, please listen to me! Please, do not be upse-"

The other mech jolted from the seat and kicked the table in front of him towards the archivist. Orion stumbled backwards away from the flying furniture.

"I said to run!" Megatron yelled. "Run back to your new masters. Run to your new brothers."

And this time, he did turn to flee the room.

Somewhere behind him, Megatron was laughing and the unhinged mirth was tinged with grief.

* * *

Factions were tearing the world apart.

Just as Megatron had predicted, war had come to cybertron. War over energon reserves, for now; but the hostilities broke the dam- and no doubt the hurt and anger every cybertronian held from the Golden Age would spill out.

The war had started over energon.

But Orion feared it would continue until aggression no longer had a target to let loose on.

He tried to explain his fear to the others and received mockery in return. But what choice did he have but to stay?

Megatron's forces were growing every cycle. The senate both hung onto that fact as hope for their protection and worked every cycle to build a contingency plan. The former gladiator had offered to be their protection in this brief war. The smart ones on the council did not believe it.

Orion was not naive enough to believe it anymore.

Still, he worked alongside this growing army. Despite how he feared his former friend. Despite how he feared for his friend: the silver mech seemed to have slipped away after being denied the Primehood. And Orion did not want to see how far down he was capable of slipping.

After each scuffle, Megatron rose to the tallest pile of rubble or corpses to address the survivors in his grand manner. Soundwave always flitted beside him like a shadow and the two warrior flightframes posted themselves as his bodyguards.

Many times, Orion wished he could feel that raving fire they did. But the passionate inspiration had been doused the cycle of the council meeting. It would not burn the same again.

The archivist slipped into the debriefing room. His job was merely with communications, maps, and strategies. He was not armed to fight.

He called it fighting. In the days to come, he would say he started the war by fighting alongside his friend. But Orion did not truly go into the field to cut down other cybertronians by Megatron's side. He had lost what little taste for the revolutionary's violence he'd once had.

The debriefing was being held in a building that had once been a kaonite school. There were no younglings left in this sector. Orion stepped inside as quietly and unobtrusively as he could.

His entrance still drew attention. Megatron cut off whatever he had been saying to sneer at him.

"So now you arrive."

Somehow, being belittled in public hurt so very much more than the silence they kept in private.

And it irked him. It made him angry.

Orion had never been one who felt much rage, or even mild irritation. But he was only a mortal.

Someone snickered at him as he passed to find a seat. The one normally reserved for him was occupied by a big orange mech. The stranger offered a sympathetic shrug. Orion did not demand him to rise. On his subsequent retreat to the doorway to stand in the shadows, more snickers rose. Megatron did nothing to stop them. In fact, his bright hate seemed only to feed the inappropriate actions.

It was a good sized meeting. Orion recognized the green mech Springer and the femme Windblade who ushered from a colony world; both were good bots he had met when working closely alongside Alpha Trion. He was glad to see them here. And that other femme, the sarcastic two-wheeler he had worked with while filing in the cartography portion of the library (the one who had caused a debacle not long earlier when she'd arrived to enlist but demanded to work with Orion Pax, the favored one of the council, as her commander) had snagged a seat by Springer.

But others were either strangers or those he did not feel comfortable with. The hulking Overlord was sitting from the back row. Soundwave was standing near Megatron, but the mech offered no friendly gesture to Orion. It was far cry from the quiet carrier he had shared energon with over the table of Swerve's or held shy conversation within the small apartment in Kaon. The seeker called Starscream was also back again. All bangles and bright paint and laughter at Orion's misfortune.

He had not been made Winglord after all and had come to throw in his lot with the militia.

When the debriefing was finished, Orion made his way over to the seeker.

"Starscream," he gave a nod. The greeting didn't seem to be enough for the young mech.

It wasn't a matter of bristling nobility. It was offending a youth- a mech too young to be in this war, let alone have aimed as high as Winglord. Starscream didn't know what he was doing here and he compensated by doing whatever he saw the others doing tenfold.

Which, in regards to Orion, had meant antagonizing him as much as his commander did.

"May we speak?" the archivist gestured for the door.

He didn't want to talk with the seeker. But he did feel a responsibility to check the wellbeing of all his companions. Megatron did not bother to anymore.

"Surely I haven't done anything to warrant the honor of speaking with the great librarian. Oh wait-" Starscream tapped his chin "-you're a step below a librarian, aren't you."

Very funny. Orion's expression revealed he was not impressed.

They stepped out into the smoking ruins of the town. While the archivist cringed away from every corpse he saw, the seeker danced in disgust away from anything he kept almost tripping on. How Starscream walked with such narrow pedes, Orion did not know. He was pretty sure he should not ask either.

He also didn't know if the uncaring attitude was also a part of the compensation; if the young seeker was trying to act as though the only disgust such corpses brought him was material or if he truly did not understand the severity of death. Orion would not ask on that either.

"I needed to check in with you," the clerk finally said when they'd put some distance between the debriefing center and their new location. He let a servo take hold of Starscream's thin arm; he'd always found tactile comfort natural. The seeker glared down at the offending servo, but did not seem to have any fear or distaste with being touched. "I've noticed you spending most of your time here around Me-commander Megatron."

"Lord."

Orion blinked. "What?"

Starscream let a smile crawl across his face.

"He likes to be called lord," the seeker rasped.

_Listening to Ratchet's miserable disapproval._

_Peace through tyranny. Did you miss that part?_

_Saying that 'Freedom is every sentient beings right' and hearing Megatron reply with a nod that 'No free mech should be forced to call another master'._

It felt like a slap in the face.

Starscream waved at him in impatience.

"What was it you wanted to ask me about, oh great one?"

Shaking himself back into the moment, Orion let himself frown. "I merely made that observation and felt it necessary to make sure you were-that is-...I had to see if you were unhurt."

That made the seeker sneer.

"Really? You drag me away for that?" He shook his head, vosian ornaments jangling from the movement. "Lord Megatron wouldn't hurt me. Go take your stupid concern and shove it up your tailpipe. I don't want it; not from the likes of you."

Insults just kept piling up. Orion wasn't sure he would be strong enough to resist them all.

_Just because you're star struck by a celebrity doesn't mean you're stupid!_

Was he stupid? Orion certainly felt so every time he walked into a debriefing only to be snickered at.

But not by all. Many of the militia mechs liked him. From the one who demanded he be her commander to those who chanted for him to find the Matrix and become their Prime-

It seemed even this army had divided into factions. But the more war crazy mechs did not want him to be their Prime; and it was mainly those who found themselves invited to debriefings and stratagems.

"Why do you detest me?" Orion asked bluntly.

It took the seeker by surprise. His mouth fluttered wordlessly for a moment.

"B-wha-" he started in confusion. "Because you're supposed to be a Prime right now. You're supposed to be holding this planet together. And instead you simper off behind a mech who will never accept you again. You're pathetic. Face that fact and stop avoiding the Primehood because of his jealousy."

He had been called pathetic before.

Orion did not believe it.

Sticking to his hope for peace and freedom to coexist was not pathetic. Trying to preserve a bond the council had accidentally broken was not pathetic.

It was strength.

He used to believe that he was weak and longed to have the bravery Megatronus of Kaon showed every time he preached against the corruption oppressing him.

Orion knew the truth now; he was strong.

His will was unflappable. That was strength. His ethics were solid despite the new war. That was strength. His drive to protect others and help them retain the freedoms they were not yet given remained untouched.

He had the strength that Megatronus of Kaon had failed to continue on with.

Megatron had burned strong enough to light a fire in them all, but his flame had burned too hot and turned cold. Still Orion hoped it was not too late for him.

It was too much of a tragedy for the one who had fought so hard against tyranny to succumb to it.

"There is far more at stake than that," Orion finally replied to the rash young mech.

Another that burned too hot.

Another very likely to burn out.

"Our current militia is too fragile to risk upsetting Megatron. We need to contain the battles before the subject should even be breached again. I-"

"Like I said: pathetic. Who'd be scared of that bot? Stop playing around and just take it."

"W-what?" Orion stammered in surprise. Starscream rolled his optics.

"Take the dumb Primehood," he spelled out slowly. "Maybe if we've got a Prime on our side, we actually could contain these battles. Or maybe I'm the one being stupid. All I know-"

Starscream leaned in close to the small archivist, drawing one blunt finger over Orion's chin.

"-is that you're not willing to find any of that out because you're scared of hurting our poor little leader's feelings. He already hates you. Get over it."

The finger finally moved away so that the seeker's servo could pat his face.

"If I had the chance to get that sort of power, I wouldn't have bothered hesitating. If the council told me where the fabled Matrix is, I would've jumped on the chance already. So why are you waiting for the whole planet to fall to pieces before finally trying?"

That cycle, Orion walked away from the militia. He approached the council at the senate hall and informed them that he would begin his search. Jazz had found him as soon as he left the hall; the normally light-sparked mech moved silently to support Orion's weight. Ratchet arrived not long after, having been hailed by the spy.

He was thankful that he had friends he could trust in.

Orion hoped that he would be able to remember that trust and affection after finding the Matrix of Leadership.

Forgetting it all, losing himself, could only be worth it if it truly meant he would be able to bring peace to his people.

Alpha Trion came to him later and listened to the concerns. The old mech assured him he would remember, although he would not retain that same emotional state. How the master archivist knew such a thing, Orion did not know.

The reassurement only answered a portion of his questions. The enigmatic idea of becoming a Prime was alienly terrifying and, just as alienly, comforting.

It was an unknown.

But as Cybertron fractured further, Orion Pax stepped forward into that unknown.

* * *

Optimus Prime had far more followers than the anxious Orion had imagined. They resurrected the idea of the 'autobot', with Alpha Trion's direction and the collective wisdom of the Primes.

With grief, he noted that naming his own army had only further divided the gap between factions.

For some time, Optimus still tried to fight alongside the decepticon leader, moving over the planet's side to free energon deposits.

But the divide grew and grew until their factions could no longer pretend to be fighting alongside each other and openly warred with each other instead.

The council was Megatron's target. Optimus moved to protect them; a futile effort, he learned later.

But Optimus was nothing if not hopeful- he fought for many futile efforts, despite the odds. He always would.

It was a quality left over from his former life.

As was another hesitation Optimus could not rid himself of:

Megatron had lost his way. But the Orion part of Optimus continued to futilely hold onto the hope that he could find it again.

* * *

They sat side by side on the balcony of Orion's apartment.

Above the hazy skyline lay the expanse of stars. Visible in a way they'd never been during the perpetual smog and low-hanging fleets of quintesson crafts in the Age of Wrath.

The sight was beautiful. Many times, Orion had just wished for Cybertron itself to be as beautiful and free as the stars above were.

And lately he had hoped for that rather than wished.

The difference was contextual. Before, it was a passing dream, a hopeless longing.

Now he believed it was possible. So much was.

"Someday, the beauty of our world will not be this perfect lie," he said into the air. Besides him, Megatron huffed in amusement.

"Poetic," he quipped.

Hidden in the night's darkness, Orion smiled.

"You have a way with words, my little archivist."

That in and of itself was poetic. Orion spoke quietly in public and with obvious nervousness. Megatron was the one who delivered eloquent, awe-inspiring speeches. But the irony felt like a compliment rather than a joke.

"It will," he spoke up again, "Cybertron will be free."

They had dreamed of that how many times over their messages or in amiable debate? How many times had they painted the picture of happy freedom in words across a table?

"We will have no masters," the retired champion of Kaon agreed. "We will be free. You and I will lead this planet to prosperity."

"You and I?" the archivist teased.

Megatron took his small servo in his own massive and dangerous claws. It did not squeeze together with any sense of danger and pain.

The others only saw Megatron as the gladiator, the freedom fighter, the inspiring brute.

But Orion saw a gentle side to him. A mentor, a leader, a companion. Someday, Megatron would not have to fight. Someday, he would not have to be seen as a brute known only for his vicious side in battle.

Cybertron did not have to be oppressive in order to flourish, as it did now. It did not have to see only titles and social status before determining a mech's worth.

They made an unlikely duo- but someday, they would help lead a world to the place they were now.

A world where both would truly be seen. Not as the quiet archivist and the brute. There was far more to both of them than their exteriors and titles proclaimed. The quiet archivist enjoyed indulging in humor. The brute was well spoken and intelligent. A caste system refused to acknowledge anything but heritage and status.

A free Cybertron would do so much more for every mech that lived on it.

"Do you doubt it?" Megatron squeezed the servo gently.

Orion stared out over the urban glow below the sky of stars and squeezed back.

"No. We will."

He could not think of any other way.

They would.

Together.


	41. A Few Reasons To Lecture Primus

Knock Out is reaching a critical level of confused frustration.  
Arcee and Smokescreen have a chat and a problem.

_AN- This chapter's flashback is actually just integrated into the present, so no specific scene occurs in the past._

* * *

"Now. We still need to talk. Smokescreen, get over here."

Here it came.

Ratchet prowled closer and Knock Out failed to hold his ground despite his smarting feelings telling him to bristle out. Curse autobot softness for rubbing off on him and making him cower-

"Yes?" he drew out the word, face a fabricated caricature of innocence.

The older medic didn't buy it.

Bouncing over in a way that hinted he had no idea what was coming, Smokescreen slid up to Knock Out's side. The rookie grinned at him and ribbed him with his elbow.

Bad move. Knock Out glared.

"See this?" he gestured to himself. "It takes time and effort to reach this level of perfection and it's too easy to mess it up."

Since the other didn't seem to understand what he meant, the medic thought to express himself in simpler terms:

"No touchy."

It seemed that whatever he'd said was funny, at least to the other speedster. From what interactions they'd had together on Cybertron before Smokescreen had been assigned to visit radio-dead colonies, Knock Out figured he probably _was_ amused. The medic adjusted his face to be smiling just like the rookie's was.

It was a chameleon expression, but he'd been using that method since staying with the bots on Cybertron.

...a lie, of course. Life had always been about acting. The real decision for the idealist was deciding which acting troupe to join.

Well, Smokescreen was far from the role model that Optimus was. But in the moment, it seemed best to latch to him. Of course, the last time he'd done that he'd just about had a spark attack facing down Soundwave and falling from an airship. Maybe hanging with Smokescreen wasn't the best of ideas.

The rookie ribbed him again and laughed. Knock Out elbowed him back.

Besides, it _was_ fun. It had been on Cybertron and it was here.

The only downside really was just the glare Ratchet was shooting at them and all it entailed.

"If you two are quite done yet..." the medic growled and both younger mechs straightened to exaggerated attention.

"That little stunt you pulled with Raf still needs to be discussed. We're all about to embark on a mission to revive our home; neither of you get to mess around like you did there. Smokescreen, you're new here. You haven't gotten the chance to discover how we operate. We don't go taking stupid risks like bringing Jack to the same location Megatron is or running around on the decepticon warship!"

Knock Out snickered (he always had enjoyed watching the dressing downs on the _Nemesis_, so long as they weren't addressing him or Breakdown), although the noise stopped as soon as Ratchet had turned to him.

"And you-" the cranky mech started.

Scrap. His turn.

"You should _know_ better."

Dammit, he sounded so _sad_. But that didn't work. It didn't make sense. This Ratchet didn't have any of the stake in him that the other Ratchet had. Did he?

They'd barely interacted in the medbay. The only emergencies they'd worked together on were Breakdown, but only in the forest on-scene, and Bulkhead, that time Wheeljack had snapped at him.

In a way, it felt like that just precluded all this.

_I thought you were the first to accept me_

But they didn't mind turning on him.

Wait, wait- all this was an overreaction. _You should know better?_ That just meant Ratchet _did_ believe in him!

Why did he have to feel both crushed and elated at the same time? That sort of bogus dissonance should be illegal. The omega lock needed to hurry up and revive Cybertron so that Knock Out could give Primus a piece of his mind about his emotional design. Ugh.

That entire train of thought just derailed in so many areas it made his head spin. What even had been his original point? Ratchet kept talking before he could figure that out.

"You've been here longer than Smokescreen; you should have remembered what Optimus's first rule here is." Ratchet ran a servo down his own face in frustration. "No putting the humans in danger. They've already got enough risk just by being so small and unprotected. And you broke my rule as well: no putting yourself in stupid danger."

Once, when the older medic had been paying a visit to Cybertron in the earlier days after the war, Knock Out had caught him sitting on the very edge of the Well. Too close.

_'Put the damned thing in his spark,'_ the mech had said._ 'In his spark. Like a fool. He knew that was a one way fix.'_

There hadn't exactly been any wiggle room in interpreting that statement. The defector had awkwardly sat down next to his new mentor and wondered what, exactly, the autobot thing to say would be.

_'Maybe there was a way to get rid of the Matrix of Leadership without sacrificing his own spark. If it could change Orion into Optimus, certainly the process could've been reversed. But he didn't give me time to find that way. He didn't give me time to fix anything. I could have done something. I could have saved him. He didn't let himself get the chance to be saved. Damned fool. Always such a stupid idealist when it came to sacrifices.'_

It had been odd to hear complaints about Optimus from someone who wasn't a decepticon.

Even weirder to hear him insulted by the one bot the Prime had always seemed closest to, judging by the stories.

Arcee had agreed that it wasn't really about insults._ 'Believe me, he's more upset than he is mad. Ratch, he...he just happens to grieve like this. Getting mad. Telling the person he feels like he's failed off for being stupid. It's deflection.'_

_'It's guilt.'_

Of course Ratchet's number one rule would be for the team to keep themselves out of danger. He was the one who got most upset when someone got hurt.

Knock Out wished he could empathize to that strong a degree. It was something impressive, even if it did seem to shoot the old medic in his own pede more often than not.

"Who do you think fixes you up when you go decide to pick fights with Soundwave or jump off an airborne warship? Hm?" Ratchet was pointing at both of them and Smokescreen started to make a noise that sounded suspiciously like a drawn out 'ohh'.

"Wait," the rookie frowned suddenly. "I'm hearing what you say, but that doesn't match up. If Optimus says we can't hurt humans, why did you get rid of all that Tox-En instead of giving it to Airachnid-"

"_We_ don't take risks!" Ratchet snapped, cutting Smokescreen off. "This team does not!"

Liar, liar- Knock Out resisted the urge to say the taunt out loud. That was what he'd do if he was still on the con warship. Not here.

"I'm just wondering why we're being lectured by you about this, and not-"

It seemed Smokescreen had pushed too far. Ratchet's expression had gone cold with fury. He pointed out of the medbay with a shaking finger.

_"Get. Out."_

Apparently, living in dissonance between words and actions wasn't something only Knock Out had to go through.

Ratchet preached a good talk, but he didn't follow up on it. His reasons were good and rational and meant to save more humans and cybertronians...and they still made him far from the perfect one to do the lecturing, didn't they?

A part of Knock Out figured that Optimus was the only one who could truly give a lecture without some measure of hypocrisy in play.

The other part of him felt crushed at the mere idea of Optimus giving him a lecture. No thank you.

Speaking of the Prime...

Optimus wanted everyone to convene together by the groundbridge. Up on the ramparts, the three human kids watched the proceedings. Agent Fowler had joined them, frowning from where he stood.

Filtering in late, Breakdown and Bumblebee seemed to be attempting to sneak in without disrupting anything. Someone really ought to tell the big blue mech that 'sneak' was not a technique he could rightly attempt.

"Autobots. We now embark on a mission of utmost importance." Optimus looked over each of them gravely. "The other relics we have found pale in comparison to the omega keys; we must act as swiftly and diligently with these final four relics as we did with the former weapons."

Most of the bots in the room nodded.

"I have decoded the first of the four coordinates," the Prime turned to look at the main screen, where the Iacon database was open. "You will divide into teams and await my signal; the first team should be ready to depart now. I must not waver until I have decoded them all; the future of our home world depends on it. Understood?"

This time, the nods were less absent and more purposeful responses to a nearly rhetorical question.

"Good," Optimus gave one of his rare little smiles.

"I'm on team one!" Smokescreen raised his arm quickly. "Who's with me?"

Not Knock Out, that was for sure. Falling through the sky to his ever approaching doom was the last time he'd ever go with the rookie on a mission.

"I'll go," Arcee stepped up, lacking all the hyperactivity of her partner.

With those two volunteers, Optimus gave a nod of his own.

"Then Arcee and Smokescreen will travel to the desert region of Egypt to retrieve the first key. Bulkhead and Wheeljack will bridge to the second set of coordinates when I decode it. Knock Out and Breakdown will retrieve the third."

Wait-

This...this was the first mission he'd officially been sent on without another autobot's supervision! So despite his little mishap with Smokescreen, the doctor was still trusted enough to not just run away with the key?

He was beaming so hard that he barely heard the rest of Optimus's orders. "...will wait until the last set is decoded and then he and I will head for it together. Ratchet will remain with the groundbridge."

"I'll get us started then," the older medic said, stepping to the bridge controls and entering the coordinates for Arcee's team.

Smokescreen waved forward at the tunnel and flashed Arcee a grin. "After you, sir! ...ma'am. Commander?"

The two-wheeler walked right past his blustering and into the summoned vortex.

* * *

It was a peaceful area on Earth. A real slice of ideal forest beauty, like the type of place he'd see in a human romance movie. Or maybe a slasher film. There were quite a few of those set in the middle of isolated woods.

There was a still lake reflecting the cloudy sky and not a sound could be heard.

Well, that probably just meant that they were the only ones in the area. After all, not many cybertronians were good at being quiet and humans were always obnoxiously loud.

Knock Out let the arm holding his staff relax. It looked like there wasn't going to be a fight after all. Next to him, Breakdown also let his hammer drop a bit; though not enough to show he actually was relaxed. Knowing him, the guy probably _wanted_ a fight.

Truth be told, the doctor was itching for one too. In the old days, the two of them could go head to head with Optimus Prime himself. They'd done it at that Greek museum, hadn't they?

Those days weren't exactly the 'good old days', but they certainly had had their perks.

"Hey-" Breakdown started up.

He didn't exactly elaborate.

"Yes?" the smaller mech had to prod.

This time, his partner did continue. "I've been thinking lately."

Already, the blue mech's tone had him nervous.

"Isn't that my job?" Knock Out tried for a laugh.

Instead of hearing banter back, Breakdown quickly said a simple: "Yeah."

Oh.

Turning away from the device working on pinpointing the relic, Knock Out faced his assisstant down.

"I was joking," he said. Breakdown looked unimpressed.

"Why?"

Well, that wasn't the question he was expecting.

"I just mean," his assistant tried, swinging one hammer back and forth. "You do do the thinking for us. You make the decisions. That part is as normal as always."

Of course it wasn't! Knock Out had been _very good_ lately about not making all the decisions.

"So why do you keep acting like everything is different?" Breakdown continued. "Why don't you let me act normal around you?"

Not long ago, on the top of the base, he'd said _'You're right'._ And what had Knock Out's response been?_ 'of course I am, but what about?'_ That was a prime example of them acting 'normal' around each other (and here he'd been trying hard to not be his version of normal and instead be more like the bots version of the word; if that conversation was an example of a failure, then it happened more often than not. So why was Breakdown whining?).

"Because-" the medic started up loudly, stalling as he realized he didn't know what to say. "-Because I'm trying-we're not-I'm better now. I'm listening to you when you do think. Haven't I been?"

Obviously he had. That literally was a part of this new conversation.

The other mech still looked odd. Distraught, even. Or mildly so.

"Why'd we have to change?" he asked. "Weren't..."

As an impatient mech, Knock Out wanted to rush the other forward to finish whatever thought he'd left hanging.

But he didn't. Because he was better than that. Because he could do this.

He could bottle every damn thing up so that he was talking about others.

All the time. Discussing their problems. Making sure they were okay.

Until he just about managed to explode-

"...We were good, weren't we?"

They were. They were delightful. _Sympatico_, Brainstorm would say (had said, far too many times in fact; the weird seeker was a fan of the word). Because they'd always done what Knock Out wanted and never had an issue with it.

But that wasn't actually ideal. Doing that just meant the medic had longed for his partner to get another lease on life so that he, Knock Out, could discover what it would be like to have Breakdown talk about himself.

They were unhealthy and one-sided.

They were friends and Breakdown missed that. He missed that.

How was he supposed to only make one of those '_were_'s into a '_still are_' without dragging the bad along with it? Especially when it seemed like his partner missed that mess more than he liked their current duality?

Knock Out looked at the tree behind his assistant and mumbled: "The best."

He only accepted the best, after all.

* * *

Alright, so he was with one of Optimus Prime's top lieutenants and she didn't look altogether happy with him.

But he was still in the field! He'd been sent with a really important autobot to retrieve a really important relic!

The only possible conclusion to draw was that Optimus believed in his ability to get the job done.

And Arcee's.

But still.

Smokescreen was delighted.

The scout, on the other hand, seemed less than enthusiastic. She hadn't even told him what her proper title was.

How was he supposed to work with her if he didn't know her title?

Alpha Trion would probably be telling him to get his priorities in order. Smokescreen shook off the thought.

They directed into the weird human triangle thing and the rookie realized that conversation was sorely lacking.

Perhaps it was because Arcee herself was still sore on certain subjects.

He should be a big bot and apologize for those subjects.

"Hey, um, Arcee?"

She didn't glance behind herself. Smokescreen tapped his fingers together and continued nervously. "I-I owe you an apology. I never meant to endanger Jack."

And he didn't! He just thought the guy would have fun going out on recon with him! The human was a cool guy and Smokescreen had wanted to impress him, that was all.

It hadn't really struck him how easily a human could get hurt until he saw the weird dark stuff oozing out of Jack's mom's arm.

"I-Humans...squish...easily," he mumbled, "I get that now."

And he did- so he'd taken another cybertronian on his next mission. No more human sidekicks, never again. Even if he missed having friends he could have at his side. People his age who weren't dead. Like the human teen really had seemed to be.

But he would be good now. He'd limit hanging out with Jack to truly sterile environments. Arcee wouldn't have to be mad at him forever.

"This isn't just about Jack-" the femme spun on him. "Team Prime can't afford any casualties: not human or bot."

Wow, she was serious. Maybe he could ask her to give him some lessons on how to manage his own expressions. No way he'd be underestimated if he learned to glare like that.

"I've already lost two seasoned partners," Arcee's stoic voice gave a slight crack. "I don't need a rookie on my scorecard."

Ohh. Smokescreen felt even worse about putting Jack in danger now.

"Not gonna happen-" he tried to reassure. "Elite guardsman's honor."

Already, Arcee had turned to continue down the human tunnel.

Smokescreen's brain caught up with her words and then he was jogging after her with more questions. "Wait- you lost two partners?"

The femme glared behind herself.

"It's a war, kid. You may have missed most of it while in stasis, but start grasping that now: the cons shoot to kill."

Wh-he-he knew that! She didn't have to treat him like an idiot!

They didn't really spark up conversation again until they'd found the mound of rocks the relic hid under. Then they got to banter a bit and that reassured him that he hadn't made her all that upset. She was pretty cool too; far older than Jack, but still a fun bot to hang around.

And he just didn't want to get on her bad side. That was there too.

The omega key itself was a weird rusty thing. Smokescreen had looked it over and nodded. Yup. That was Iacon craftsmanship alright. Good old beardy did his job well every time. Here he was, saving Cybertron from beyond the grave. Alpha Trion was no Optimus Prime, but he'd been a madly impressive boss regardless.

The two autobots tried to call for a bridge and realized they couldn't reach the base through the rock and sand. Not that it was a huge deal or anything. What exactly was wrong with going back out...side...

Waiting for them on the sand was the last person any autobot ever wanted to see.

The dark lord himself.

Arcee reacted faster than him, bringing her guns out and pointing them furiously at Megatron. The con warlord chuckled.

"The relic," Megatron growled. "_Now_."

Fat chance. Smokescreen snorted. "Two against one," he reassured his partner, "We can take him."

A different voice interrupted that train of thought. It graveled as it laughed from somewhere behind them. Both bots spun around without thinking, placing their backs to the worst con to ever live. His massive servos landed down on both their shoulders and made their knees buckle from the new weight and fear alike.

And only a short distance away, two red glares pointed down at them from the primed guns of the spindly mech crouched on the side of the pyramid.

"Oh, I assure you," the seeker grinned "-you _can't_ take us on."

* * *

_AN- Hello again! Just wanted to remind you that this gets updated far slower than the version on AO3. Perhaps that's why the AO3 version has over 700 comments while this one has far fewer. For the two of you that have reviewed, I want to give a big thank you. Your support is greatly appreciated :)_


	42. Nostalgia

Megatron muses dramatically. Arcee and Smokescreen make what quick reactions to trouble they can. The other two teams run into their own small issues.  
And agent Fowler is left to wonder at base

* * *

What a strange series of events this war had taken lately.

Megatron looked into the dark Earth sky over the human region of Eurasia. It was night here and the major satellite of the planet was not in its bright phase. He liked the darkness. It was familiar. Like the enclosed dim of the _Nemesis_ or Darkmount, or the black void of space where he'd traveled for many cycles.

He had left to journey into that void and retrieve an army shortly after it had become entirely obvious Cybertron meant nothing to fight over anymore. The warship, for that was all the dead titan was anymore, was left in the servos of his second in command and Starscream had kept in contact about every new turn of the war. It had moved to a place called Earth. They were building a space bridge so that he could return with his army.

Starscream always sounded snide when telling him they were waiting for his arrival with a great army behind him. Bringing back nothing but dark energon had been worth the dull look on the seeker's face. Despite his proclamations, the disloyal mech had not expected him to truly return without an army.

He had spent eons with back up plans, hidden treacheries, secret ambitions, and yet the seeker still always believed that Megatron would prevail somehow.

Well, he had always prevailed over Starscream's plots. He supposed that contributed to the unhappy faith.

And so he had rewarded such faith with the first showing of his new army.

An army which the autobots ruined in mere jours.

A ruination that had left him floating in agony among debris. No comms could work because no words could form in his processor through the pain. He could not get his thrusters to move him and instead remained helpless to the gravity-free space near this accursed planet. The only sensation of movement he could determine was how even the slightest of flinches made his body rage against itself.

In that gap of unhappy time, he felt the symbiosis inside him. It whispered in his spark, words indiscernible but meanings obvious, in a manner that left him (him!) aghast and delighted and terrified and-

And all this had lasted until Starscream and Laserbeak found him.

With one cocky pull, his former 2IC had tugged the thing in his spark free. And all those whisperings faded. The voice of a dead god no longer pulled at every sensation he felt. Without it, he was nothing. He was but dreams. He was deluded in subconscious while his body lay on the medbay berth.

It was autobots who had rescued him from that, to quote the traitorous Knock Out's words, 'deathless slumber'. Riding in one of their own's body, interacting with the small team of respectless mechs, even staying among their base had all been so very...odd. There was not truly a better way to put it. Even as a mech who rarely let himself be surprised, hitching a ride in an autobot was not his usual nor expected forte.

Somehow even that did not amount to the unexpected shock of having two previously loyal decepticons disappear without a single warning.

On a somewhat more self-amusing note, the Bumblebee incident also had not been as odd as that cycle when four Starscream's had attacked him.

So many strange things as of late.

Traitors, humans playing god, the drama aboard his own warship-

He believed he had killed Primus with Cybertron, but Megatron still felt as though the being was laughing at him as the world threw inglorious after ingloriously stupid situations at him.

Life had never been quite so odd before he had almost died in that space bridge explosion. The most recent of these unexpected situations had just been having to go to Starscream to recruit him again. It truly left Megatron with a sour taste in his fuel tank. And sometime during that recruitment, two enemies somehow boarded this ship, eluded Soundwave, and dropped to their doom with a good chunk of relics from the vault.

Infuriating...but unreally stupid enough to be amusing.

The planet had rotated until the nostalgically familiar darkness illuminated into day once again. Megatron left the bridge at the first sign of light.

As the cycles passed, he continued to ruminate on these peculiar occurrences. And all of those strange events culminated to the now.

Two autobots in his grasp (quite literally). Starscream pointing his weapons in his direction, but at both of Optimus's lackeys rather than him.

Well, it was not too surprising. There were very few instances where the seeker attempted face to face assassination. Truly, the only memorable moment had been when the mech had crawled atop him and torn the shard of dark energon keeping him alive free.

There were very good reasons to let Starscream return to the decepticons. He hated Megatron, was far too ambitious for his own good, and made round-about attempts at murdering him...but he was loyal to the cause and he was thrillingly dangerous.

As these autobots no doubt were realizing.

Ah, how good it felt to be synchronized with his second. Dreadwing was a loyal mech, but Megatron had enough of that working alongside Soundwave. There was something to be said for unpredictability and following a line of treacherous incidents all the while still standing besides a deadly lieutenant. Or across from him, in this case.

Much of that 'something' was no doubt nostalgia. But the warlord was weak in that matter. No matter how he tried to stomp such weakness out, Megatron could not deny to himself his own tendency to fall back into nostalgia.

And while Starscream was no Orion Pax, the seeker was a familiar mech to have at his side.

The autobots continued to struggle under his servos. Starscream was smirking far too widely at the sight. Their optics were lamplights in the human desert. They bathed the small enemies in crimson.

So many organics bled crimson life-fluids.

How amusing that their separated evolutions would lead them to sharing such blood. And so darkly amusing that organics continued to hamper the way of cybertronian advancement. First those accursed quintessons, then these parasitical spawn of Unicron- they stood in their way and prevented the grand ascension time after time.

Oh, this planet would pay as Quintessa had. Megatron would see to that.

First, though, Cybertron must revive. A reborn Cybertron would not have the natural qualms, the innesscant fighting barrier, to the very society the warlord offered them.

Peace. Through him; through tyranny- why should it matter to his people if they had their envied peace?

Yet even Cybertron was not the most important goal he sought. Even if it remained dead forever and their race would only find that peace and loyalty through death and dark energon, Megatron would still have his ultimate victory.

He would make Optimus pay. They would battle as the gods they were until he stood over the foolish Prime's body and tore the life from it. Perhaps he would even revive the corpse and amuse himself with a new, unarguably loyal version of Optimus Prime. The idea had its appeals and yet even one he hated so much seemed too important, too hated, too equal in match to let the memory of their great battle fade into that inglorious fate. One shall fall, but that fall truly was more dramatically impactful if said One did not rise again.

Whatever he chose to do with the corpse of his greatest enemy, the fact did remain that Megatron must first kill him to make him pay.

And these autobots would allow him to do that.

* * *

All this talking had distracted them from relic hunting. Spurred into action, the two partners glanced around the lakeside for anything remotely relic looking.

As quiet as it was, neither really felt like avoiding conversation. Truth be told, neither of them _wanted_ to avoid conversation.

But then, Knock Out had never wanted that. It was just...

He didn't know how he was supposed to act or treat his partner or what to say except all those old lines they used to dance with.

"See anything key-like anywhere?" he asked while he headed for where he remembered the relic being. A small distance away, Breakdown knocked a tree over and looked at the debris left behind.

"Nope," the big mech growled, "Nothing here."

Great. So this was gonna take actual effort. At least it didn't seem like the decepticons had caught onto this location yet. Last time, he'd been the one sent here. Maybe the cons were too understaffed to bother this time. That'd be lovely.

"You know, you really don't have to be so miserable," Knock Out said to the air.

He didn't see what his assistant's reaction was.

"I just mean, sure you didn't want to defect and all, but you have to admit the bots have their perks! And they'll be the ones to revive Cybertron-" _-this time around-_ "so we'll get front row seating to a new life there!"

Some whir from an organic bird cutting through the air echoed in that same air. Breakdown knocked another tree down with an audial glitching tearing sound.

That probably wasn't the _greatest_ of signs. Knock Out turned to look at the blue mech.

"It will be pretty great," Breakdown admitted.

And sure, the medic hadn't spent that much time on a pre-war Cybertron. He'd hailed from a colony world, after all. But he still figured the guy forged there would like to see his old home again.

"What are we gonna do then?" the other asked.

Oh, he was going to-

Wait, wait. This was a perfect opportunity to trade places. Instead of him answering for the two of them, he'd make the blue mech answer.

Knock Out grinned. "There's a thing or two I'd like to do. But what about you?"

A buzz was in the air. Some stupid earth machinery nearby, he figured. It was interrupting the otherwise ambient setting.

"What would you like to do when we're all back?" he jogged over to Breakdown's side.

The silence left between his words and his partner's reply was only filled with that distant buzz.

"I dunno. Been a while since I was ever even on Cybertron." It hadn't been all that long since Knock Out had been there. Just a few human years, really. Before he'd been scared away. Maybe it would be more enjoyable this time around when Breakdown would be there. And maybe it wouldn't live up to Earth. Just making a planet live again didn't return it to a lively state. It had taken solar cycles to return to activity and the hustle and bustle of city...at which point, the old Team Prime was already facing political issues from that same city. "Maybe we do what the two-wheeler said and just take a long oil bath."

Knock Out smirked. Oh, Arcee really did have her priorities right.

"Seems like a good start to me," he said.

It made Breakdown smile just a bit before the bigger mech glanced distracted into the air. The smile morphed into a frown.

"You hear that?"

What, the buzz? The doctor started to say it was just humans but the words caught before they'd left his opened mouth.

It was louder. It was near.

And it was recognizable.

_Laserbeak._

And where Laserbeak was, Soundwave followed.

* * *

The forest here was weird. It wasn't the normal green. And here Wheeljack had started being pretty sure all Earth forests looked the same. But just like metal rusted, organic plants died. They just got extra colorful when they did.

Really, the reds and golds of this place were kinda endearing. It reminded him of that one organic place he'd gone to with another ex-wrecker. They'd stuck around for a while before Wheeljack had taken off again. Nice as the orange jungle was, it wasn't where he wanted to settle down. Tungsten was done with the war; he'd just wanted to stay somewhere. To have a home, as organic and isolated as it was, in a world without a Cybertron.

He'd heard a half a vorn later that the place had been caught in the crossfires between a fleeing traitor and an angry band of cons chasing said traitor. Dead as he was, ol' Sten couldn't hear Wheeljack's lectures on the stupidity of trying to settle down. You couldn't run to escape the war. War always chased a wrecker.

With a grunt, he shook the memories off. He really needed his head in the game here to best find this new toy and help Bulk out. Could've slapped himself, said a self-deprecating 'get it together'. For some reason, the mental lecturer sounded like Miko and Ratchet mashed together. The former would just not be impressed by him getting distracted from a potential fight. The latter would be mad to fix him up if said potential fight ended in injury-from-distraction.

Maybe the grump would like this place. Sure could use seeing a bit more beauty in the world before deciding he was entitled to be the number 1 cynic.

Course, the beauty of this place may have to be changed to the beauty of flaming explosions. There was always the possibility of a fight.

All the better, Wheeljack thought. He was just about itching for a battle.

So when Dreadwing crashed down into the trees and delivered some short prelude to violence, the smaller of the wreckers had to grin.

Somewhere out there, Primus really was looking out for him.

* * *

There was just the slightest flashes of spark sinking panic.

And then Smokescreen was allowing himself to praise his good forethought. He'd snagged his new favorite relic because, well, it really was his at this point. Without giving either the giant con behind him or his current partner any warning, the rookie slipped through Megatron's grasp and tore through the warlord's body with his own suddenly intangible one. Spinning around, Smokescreen caught sight of the weird skinny guy on the Earth pyramid making an unflattering noise of surprise and Megatron giving out a snarl. Arcee buckled under added weight when the warlord crushed through her shoulder without even seeming to notice his own action.

_Sorry, Arcee-_ the rookie grimaced and then turned to run back through the walls of the human building.

What sounded suspiciously like Megatron yelling for him to get back out there echoed down the little hallway. Smokescreen slid through another wall and into a musty enclosed room. Ew, was there some sort of decaying happening in here? Nasty.

The rookie shook the thought away and went for his comms.

_«Base! Base! You gotta send help now asap!»_

He clutched the omega key closer to his chest. What else could he do? Go outside and harass the cons?

...not a bad plan, he admitted. It was tempting to be sure.

But first-

«_Arcee_!» Smokescreen commed in quick desperation _«Are you okay? Are you alive? Tell me you're alive!»_

When the answer didn't come at that exact moment, he dropped the key and ran out of the pyramid again.

Oh thank Primus, she was still moving; score for him!

Standing over where Arcee was struggling up from the sand, Megatron moved his murderous glare from the femme to the rookie.

"Whatdya know-" Smokescreen flashed both his empty servos for the warlord's benefit. "All gone. Sucks for you, I guess."

If looks could kill, he'd be dead right now.

And if the phase shifter didn't keep him untouchable, he probably would be dead right now anyways.

* * *

Back at the base, agent Fowler was absently sliding his watch back and forth on his wrist. He was here to witness what was possibly going to be the end the alien war on planet Earth.

Or at least send it back to their own planet.

He didn't really feel great about that.

Which was stupid of him. Sure, he'd come to like these big lugs, some more than others, but...It was his job to keep his planet safe and if that meant moving this secret war off it then it meant that. And they all deserved to have their home back. If Earth turned into a wasteland and he and a few other lone humans had the chance to fix it and go back, of course he would. No questions asked, no ifs or buts.

Bryce was going to be happy when all the aliens were out of his hair. What made his general happy was supposed to make him happy.

All Fowler could think of were those times he'd worked alongside this team. The talk with Bulkhead up on the airpad or their conversation over the comms after the whole multiple-Starscream's debacle or when the big guy and doctor of doom were climbing that volcano. The kids, messing around at the base and occasionally on the battlefield. He'd never have met any of them without the autobots here. Now they were the top of his list for potential interns, and even if they didn't want that, he'd give them the support they needed to get their lives in order. They really were the best kids, hell the best civilians in general, he'd met in a long while.

Just everyone at this base- from the big red and blue leader himself to nurse June Darby- were his family now. Fowler had come a long way from detesting his job as an alien bot-sitter. It was gonna make him feel blue to have to see them go.

The watch slid for what had to have been the hundredth time before anything happened.

A comm. Ratchet looked at it first with some indiscernible grumble.

The air of impatient frustration dropped away with startling speed.

"_Optimus_-" the medic went wide eyed. Prime turned away from where he was working on that something-con database to face Ratchet.

"You have to get to Egypt _now_."

The thing about sticking around the base (something he'd only started doing once 1. the kids showed up and he felt the need to make sure they were staying safe and 2. the two defectors showed up and put their secret base in potential risk) was that Fowler had managed to get pretty good at reading the others. Picking up urgency behind an order or seeing the meaning behind a facial expression was all useful in the rangers. He'd been a bit of an ace with it, if he could let himself brag. Sure, the ex-missus didn't ever find his skill very impressive, but she had never thought much of anything he could do by the end. As with any sort of generalizing statistic, the confounding variables had to be tossed away to get the proper result: in which, he had reason to brag no matter what one lady said.

And right now?

Ratchet, big ol' alien that he was or not, was on the edge of panic.

Well, that would just not do. But a part of Fowler wasn't really surprised that things had already gone bananas.

The last time he'd been here to 'witness' the end of the war, that crashed warship came to life and it had been up to him (the kids, mainly. He'd been rather unconscious at the first zap) to save the skins of the autobots, decepticons, and New York City.

It was no big shocker that this current witnessing would get as chaotic as the last incident.

Just an average day with the autobots, Fowler chuckled internally. He really was gonna miss this.

He was going to miss them.

The chuckle turned into a frown. The human agent returned to sliding his watch around his wrist.

No point dallying in the nostalgic before they'd even left him.


	43. Your Number One

Breakdown begins his character development arc by stepping backwards into old roles.  
Or else, the one in which Bulkhead and Breakdown have an awkward talk and Knock Out doesn't realize the problems he's created

_AN- First part occurs during the end of chapter 37. The second part occurs in the present relic hunt. Some IDW references (specifically the name drop of Ferak) ahead, nothing major though._

* * *

After the squishy had kicked him out of the room, Breakdown had walked to the one place he really could.

At that time, there was only one other bot in the main room. And it was far from the first bot he'd like to see.

Apparently, Bulkhead was in here to wait for his pal Wheeljack to leave the separate medbay. Well, Breakdown just happened to be waiting for his own 'pal' to let him back in their room so...

So they had leaned against the wall together, with a good distance between them, and stared at the medbay because anything was better than acknowledging they weren't alone.

It had been fragging awkward. He hadn't been in the right headspace to psyche himself up for a friendly talk with the green wrecker.

But eventually, the rivals _had_ tried to make small talk.

It lasted a while, however haltingly.

"You, uh," Bulkhead was currently saying, "You think you'll recharge better with them gone?"

Ah yes, wrecker small talk. It was blunt and anything but innocently inane.

There wasn't any question as to who 'them' was. And there were only a few uncomfortable ways that Bulkhead could've noticed that Breakdown was waking up startled from fluxes with M.E.C.H. and their drills; none of which he liked to consider.

"Dunno," Breakdown growled, clenching his fists together. "Not like I got to play a part in getting rid of them anyway. But that's business as usual; I get in a bad situation and then someone else deals with my problem while I lay around doing nothing."

Not that squishing Silas had made that guy stop showing up in bad fluxes. He ground his fists together tighter.

There was a long pause before Bulkhead had talked again.

"Speaking of not getting rid of them..." the wrecker started, even more haltingly than his last question. "I've been wondering about why you stopped showing up in fights for a while before you and Knock Out showed up again going solo. What ever happened to that team?"

_That_ team. Funny how Bulkhead put it. Not your team. It acknowledged the past was the past and maybe...

Well, the Stunticons really were his past. They were just _that team_. He was made to have brothers, but he had no lost love for Motormaster's goons. This team of soft-sparked younglings were more like a 'my team' than that unit had been.

Still, bringing it up? Didn't seem like the greatest of plans. Breakdown grimaced.

"Knock Out happened," he answered flatly.

The wrecker's optics widened. Or one did while the other lazily halted in the attempt; the new optic was still adjusting. Understandable. Even if Ratchet had done an undeniably good job with it.

"Wait-" Bulkhead started up. "Really?"

Didn't he know? Infighting as practically a ritualistic playtime for cons.

"Yeah." Breakdown glanced away, feeling nervous talking about Knock Out when the medic wasn't present. "After the fight at Viscosi Ridge, he just about killed Wildrider and Dead End. We thought he had killed them, but heard later on the comm lines that they'd been critical and sent to Shockwave's labs to be fixed."

The blue mech cast a level stare on the wrecker.

"Mech's don't get 'fixed' at Shockwave's labs."

There was definite disgust on Bulkhead's face, but honestly Breakdown understood that reaction. And shared it. That cyclops was a nightmare.

"And Motormaster?" the other asked.

This time the disgust was on the ex-Stunticon's expression; disgust and a stupid touch of fear at that old name.

"Knock Out tore that slagger apart," he answered. "Not dead, though. Last we heard, he was trying to recruit new young guys to the old team, relive what he thought were glory days. Or he just wants newbies to tear into."

It had always seemed like he'd gone after unstable young cybertronians the first time, after all. Why else would he have picked the neurotic messes he had for the gestalt?

"The battle at Viscosi..." Bulkhead turned his gaze away while his optics, or one, narrowed.

The already fragile mood grew to a darker shade of awkward.

"I remember it."

_I remember you-_

_What you specifically did-_

At least he had the tact not to say that, even if the silent words were still heard by Breakdown. The neutral shifted to his other pede.

"Yeah; me too."

What was he supposed to say now? He was sorry?

He didn't really think he was. Sure, the memory wasn't fond anymore, if just because what had happened after. Not really because of what it had cost the bots. This bot in particular.

No one could call him sparkless, but that didn't mean he was soft enough to regret killings.

Or so he was pretty sure.

"I got no lost love for your old team," Breakdown said instead, as if replying to those unsaid things the wrecker was thinking. "The team I used to be on hurt yours, and yours hurt a lot of guys I knew. This one pal of mine early on, Ferak, he was gonna take me out of the Stunticons when he got the credits to retire."

And every wrecker had to have known what happened to Ferak and the rest of his squad. Didn't they? Or did Bulkhead live oblivious to the fact he and his old crew were practically as brutal as the Stunticon team themselves?

Well, "practically". They tended to not draw out their murders as painfully long. That probably put them a step up on the moral ladder.

Bulkhead was sneering again, though not facing him. For all he knew, the guy was sneering at the wreckers and Stunticons and Ferak's crack team and all the madness of a war that the universe considered over.

Except for here on this backwater planet built atop a dead god.

"Fact is, I don't miss them and I don't miss the wreckers. Really, I..."

...what? Did he really even know?

He'd spent the last few vorns as a virtual neutral roaming the galaxy cluster with his partner before coming here and becoming a literal neutral.

He'd spent the last couple orns living with people he was supposed to hate and just...didn't anymore.

It'd been hard to truly hate Bulk after the guy had saved him from being autopsied-to-death. Their rivalry dynamic had transformed even before they'd become allies here.

If Knock Out decided to go decepticon again and slice open everyone on this team, he'd do it but... he wouldn't want to. Why hurt Bumblebee? The kid was just that: a kid. Just a kid that liked his weird cowboy movies and pulling pranks on the base's neutral and laughing in primal vernacular because it was the only vocal ability Megatron had left him with. The new guy was just as young, if not even more so. You probably had to be smart to make it into the elite guard, but so far Breakdown was left very unimpressed. Still didn't mean he had any vitriol with the rookie. Wheeljack wasn't really around enough to make him mad, which was probably a benefit. Even though Breakdown hadn't managed to find the old hatred for Bulkhead in the more recent days of their well practiced rivalry, the smaller wrecker was a different matter. But the swordsmech hadn't caused any problems between them and he _had_ brought high grade for them all. Breakdown did like his high grade. Arcee hadn't talked with him much, but he'd seen her spending time with Knock Out. And anyone important to Knock Out was important to protect. Ratchet was a good medic with a biting temper that he couldn't help but feel impressed by. Anyone who managed to keep this base in order needed an award. Plus, there had been that whole thing with...Breakdown still hadn't found out the details, but there had been that time the medic beat the scrap out of him, used him as a shield, and then dropped him to go punch Megatron. Really, there were only two words there needed for the neutral to feel impressed: "punch" and "Megatron".

And the Prime was something. No, he didn't understand why Knock Out acted like such an enamored fan, but he was really starting to see the appeal of having Prime as a leader. He'd accepted that Breakdown wasn't comfortable being an autobot and acted merely as the leader of an ally group that requested his assistance at times. He hadn't publicly beat down any of his guys like Motormaster would've or killed anyone for being a failure like Megatron would. A part of him still saw that as proof that the Prime was soft and that being soft made him both weak as a bot and as a leader. That part of him really didn't get as vocal a presence in Breakdown's mind as of late. Sure, the bot leader lacked the loud charisma, the thrilling passion, and the deadly threat that Megatron basked in. But Prime still managed to keep his team together to the point where they were _winning_. Somehow.

Breakdown wasn't inspired by charisma or threats to follow him in battle, but he did see why others thought a mech so soft was worth following.

Pit, even the humans weren't all bad! He'd even been worried when the squishy nurse had gotten nabbed by Airachnid-

_-pulling her servos along almost intimately while they left behind a trail of agonizing green acid-_

No, nobody deserved to get nabbed by that glitch. Least of all some human that had never caused a problem for Airachnid before in her life (or so Breakdown was pretty sure). He called Motormaster a slagger, but the femme was really on another level of sadism. It was hard to believe he'd spent a short time fantasizing about her. The autobots shouldn't have ever left the nurse anywhere near that psycho. Not that they'd been able to do much, but it still had been surprising in how it had bothered him.

The human with the ball bearings of steel and trippy voice had enough guts that Breakdown couldn't help but feel impressed. And it was amusingly familiar to watch him be so exasperated while he tried to get the bots at this base to listen to his, or his supervisors, orders. As someone who'd had to relay orders to vehicons and watch them ignore basic intelligence, Breakdown could relate to that human's exasperation.

The tiny human younglings were far from being as bad as he always figured they would be. He almost felt bad for trying to crush Bulkhead's with a pillar that one time in Greece. Almost- except Breakdown didn't look back and stew in waiting for regrets to hit.

All in all, he didn't want to kill any of them.

If Knock Out said they were going to, they would. He was pretty sure they would. But he didn't even like to think about killing any of the bots or humans at this base. It was like asking him to kill Bulkhead right after the wrecker had saved him from M.E.C.H. or asking him to kill some of his former troopers.

"...I'm pretty sure this is the best I've ever gotten to feel about any specific team. So I'd really rather not look back at all the scrap left behind. It ruins what I've got in the here and now."

Primus, that was disgustingly sappy to admit. Bulkhead could hold that over him forever.

The wrecker didn't seem like he was going to just jump on that sentimental scrap. The other mech's optics were still narrowed in the direction of the medbay, but he didn't look ready to attack or anything. Maybe they were just too tired to get mad.

"I shoulda left it that way," Bulkhead stated.

In confusion, Breakdown asked a slow "...left what?"

The green mech seemed to collapse a bit against the wall behind them. As he'd thought: tired. They had been in a fight not long before and there'd been a whole lot of stressing even before that.

"I shouldn't have gone fishing for remorse," the wrecker elaborated. "I shouldn't have assumed any would be there."

So that was what he'd been doing.

"Probably shouldn't have," he frowned.

No, he definitely shouldn't have. It made Breakdown feel inadequate when regret over what happened at Viscosi didn't come and...

A bunch of other feelings he really couldn't put a name to.

The decepticons had made him feel out of place because he was too sympathetic: to the lower ranks, to the occasional neutral, to certain ruined colonies.

The autobots could make him feel even more out of place by asking where his empathy and remorse was and he'd struggle for an answer.

So no. No _thank you _was going to go to Bulk.

Because the autobots could make him feel that way...but they _hadn't_ really thus far.

Bringing up the killings at Viscosi was the first real incident where a bot had dredged up his track record and waited for him to start asking for forgiveness.

"Guess the best we can do if we wanna stick to working together is to pretend all that history doesn't exist."

Something told him that _wasn't_ the _best_ they could do, but the blue mech nodded at Bulkhead's suggestion regardless.

They went quiet again.

There were some raised voices in the medbay, but that wasn't distracting enough to fill the awkward silence between them.

"Hey," Breakdown moved to change topics, pointing at the left side of his own face. "He did a good job with that optic." Bulkhead lifted his own servo to tap at the barely visible welds absentmindedly.

"Oh, yeah. Ratchet always does."

A moment later and: "Wait, how can you tell? I can't figure out what his plan with this is at all."

That made Breakdown chuckle, however briefly.

"I was an assistant in the medbay since leaving the Stunticons behind," he said.

In a way, he kind of missed being a medical assistant. It had always let him feel important for more than just his ability to smash stuff.

"...listen." The quiet word brought the wrecker's attention over. He had to resist his frame's decision to begin heating procedures (trying to drive fast while the engine was cold was never a fun thing to do). "About what we were saying earlier...maybe there is some scrap we shouldn't always try to ignore. Maybe we do need to-"

Whatever he was going to say (and he didn't even know what it would have been) was interrupted by a familiar voice nearby. Both big mechs lost interest in each other to look at Knock Out. The red mech was currently holding one of the squishies at arms length away from him.

"Well?" the medic prodded. As if that broke Bulkhead from his stupor, the green mech jolted forward to retrieve his pet-er, friend, from the clawed servo of Breakdown's partner in crime.

"Thanks," Knock Out muttered to the green mech before landing his now free servo on his assistant's arm. "Now, what were you beautiful mechs talking about without me?"

It wasn't a threat. It wasn't a reprimand.

He shouldn't be feeling guilty.

Wasn't Knock Out the one who wanted them both to be 'bigger' mechs and work for the feel-good autobots? He should be glad to see his partner making awkward small talk with a former enemy.

_If Knock Out decided to go decepticon again and slice open everyone on this team, he'd do it but..._

_he wouldn't want to._

Breakdown shook the thought off.

"Um, just...talking," he tried.

"Yeah," Bulkhead made a painfully fake looking innocent smile. "Nothing important."

But it was. But this, whatever this awkward mess was, needed to be worked through. It shouldn't be left hanging.

"In that case-" Knock Out matched the wrecker's stretched grin with one of his own, "-I think we'll be going."

No arguing with the tug on his arm. Breakdown followed the medic's lead towards the hall, most likely to the room situated further down it, and only managed to spare a glance back at the now single mech in the room.

He felt like he should say something.

Even as inane as a stupid 'goodbye'.

This entire team deserved to hear something.

A goodbye. A regret. A compliment.

He was right about everything he'd thought when he'd considered this team earlier. They were all decent, at the least. And some of them really made him happy to be around. He hadn't come here to make friends, but he may have done just that with some of them. The urge to offer them some sort closure over the allies he'd killed in the war or continue on some irritating conversation was strong. It just felt like what he should do. It felt right.

Breakdown was tugged down the corner and let his gaze move away from the wrecker to the back of the red mech in front of him. He'd never tried to tug out of Knock Out's grasp even as the medic interrupted something important.

It would_ feel right_, but he couldn't let himself do it. It wasn't his place to pick out his unit.

* * *

Well, they'd found the relic before Laserbeak had found them.

They had also been attacked by an airborne Soundwave right after catching sight of it.

It wasn't really a fair trade off.

"Do we drive?" Breakdown asked urgently after shoving both of them behind impromptu cover.

For a nano, Knock Out looked tempted. Then he shook his head.

"No. Can't risk tall-dark-and-freaky getting ahold of that key," the medic answered.

Fair enough, considering what that key could do.

But they still could just charge out there-

Well, Breakdown could. He liked to just charge down his problems. But he didn't want Knock Out to risk it no matter how pretty the other looked in combat. Sure, they'd taken on the Prime that one time without much of an issue, but Prime had all these issues with an honor system and slow movements.

The one time he'd seen Soundwave fight Airachnid, there hadn't been either of those handicaps in play.

Overhead, the con streaked by and then looped up around for another go. The cover they'd had to the east no longer would be cover when the attack was coming from the west.

"Then what-"

Knock Out slapped his servos away. "I'm thinking! Wait, no- I'm calling for back up-"

Once again, Breakdown had to tug the other to the side when a few blaster shots started to get uncomfortably close. Somewhere in the air, Laserbeak was buzzing and giving out her own short zaps. Having had that drone in the medbay for check ups before, he had no plans of letting those stasis inducing shots come near either of them.

At the coordinates of their now destroyed cover, a groundbridge tore open. Running out from it came only one single reinforcement. The scout sprinted towards them even as red beams traced behind his path.

_"What's the issue?"_ he asked, sliding to a stop before the partners.

"The issue?" Knock Out spluttered indignantly before pointing up. "We've got those two on us and a relic that we haven't been able to get near!"

As if a battlefield was a great place to sit and think, Bumblebee waited too long for a response. A new groundbridge opened closer to the key and out ran a group of vehicons whose immediate focus was the relic itself. If they grabbed it and carried it through their nearby bridge-

Bumblebee spun around and started firing into the squad. Soundwave circled over again, laying down a blanket of shots that made all three of them dodge around. Breakdown brought his single gun, mounted on his shoulder without much mobility for aiming, out and, despite his grimace, shot into the group of vehicons as well.

Cybertron needed that key.

They pushed forward closer, though it was difficult with the distractions around them (read: being shot at). With a whir of transformation, Soundwave dropped down between the three. It was the scout that he was nearest and the scout who reacted the quickest.

_"Grab it and go!"_ Bumblebee screamed at them.

But that was-that had to be done fast- speed, speed, he wasn't built for-

Knock Out tore past him in altmode. The red mech spun around the relic, transformed enough to reach and grab it, and then folded into a vehicle once more; this time, with the key inside.

Perfect. Breakdown continued to shoot at the surveillance drone screeching to and fro above them while the yellow scout shot bolt after bolt at Soundwave, who moved closer and closer to the small grounder.

An autobot bridge tore open in front of Knock Out's path. The medic drove through without a second's hesitation and then Bumblebee was looking at him.

_"Go! I'll cover you-"_ he promised.

Why did Breakdown feel the need to say no and demand the more fragile mech return first?

Instead of arguing, he did charge from the groundbridge and landed on the floor besides Knock Out. Immediately, he moved to check over his companion. After visually seeing he wasn't injured, Breakdown glanced at the still open bridge.

Every con knew how dangerous Soundwave could be. The scout wasn't a bad fighter, but he wasn't even warrior class. He'd never stand a chance. Would he?

Behind where he was crouched staring at the portal, Knock Out transformed. He was laughing in relief. The guilt Breakdown felt at ignoring him in favor of worrying over the kid grew.

And just when he was ready to up and charge back through the bridge (or at least demand it be closed before Soundwave decided to come through), a flash of yellow and black appeared. Bumblebee rolled over the ground to a stop by the other two cybertronians.

"_Ratch_..." the young mech mumbled. _"You gotta close that bridge."_

The vents that had moments before decided to overwork calmed down to an inaudible hum.

There was smoke lifting up from the scout. Breakdown moved towards him, letting his training as a medical assistant assess where the smoke was coming from.

"You okay?" he asked while Bumblebee's vents coughed up soot.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you for worrying," Knock Out said before the scout could answer. Bumblebee whirred out a laugh even as Breakdown felt his spark flop. He should've asked his partner first. What was wrong with him?

He kept checking on others before the medic, kept ignoring the red mech's interests in favor of his own, kept, kept, kept-

Without realizing it, he'd turned away from Bumblebee to check on Knock Out. Behind him, the scout pushed up to a stand and offered a servo to the two crouching mech's; a servo they ignored.

_"Don't worry 'bout me,"_ the kid sounded jovial beyond the limits of his voice box. "_Nothing a good doctor's appointment and a fun movie with Raf won't fix. What about it? We got the relic; wanna celebrate with me?"_

It wasn't an invitation for them both. It was...it was for him. Even though Knock Out was the one with a similar alt-mode and hobbies. Even though Knock Out was the one who wore an autobot badge like the scout. Even though-

Even though Knock Out was the one worth spending time with.

Breakdown shook his head.

"I don't think so," he muttered, not looking away from the medic to see what disappointment was on the scout's face. "Maybe Knock Out wants to watch one with you?"

There was a moment of confusion where the medic's optics flickered between the assistant and Bumblebee.

And then Knock Out grew a wide smile.

"Oh Breakdown," he purred, "You do know how to make a mech feel important."


	44. The War and All It Entails

Brainstorm offers theories to an upset Knock Out.  
The two wreckers fight Dreadwing over one of four omega keys.  
And vorns before, a young Bulkhead finds reassurance from some of his new coworkers.

_AN- First scene is a flash'back' (ie a flash forward to the RID future), last scene is a traditional flashback to the early war._  
_Spoilers for MTMTE issue #33 contained in the first flashback scene. Warning for drug use._

* * *

They ran into each other just the once. Knock Out had been on his way out of Cybertron-controlled space in a ship he hated for many reasons. It was cramped, it was cluttered, it was badly painted, and it was empty. He didn't like how empty it was. He didn't like being alone.

The _Jackhammer_ was a mess inside. It made Knock Out rant and rave and threaten to space most of the wrecker's junk. But at least the _Jackhammer_ had a name. A personality. A history with its occupant.

His shuttle had nothing except the honor of personally allowing him off that planet and away from the two bounty hunters on his tail. When it came to giving the thing a good name, that wasn't saying much.

It was obvious Wheeljack liked his ship, though. Just like it was obvious the mech was able to adjust just fine to this whole mess.

"I like to wander," the wrecker waved him off that one cycle where his shuttle had clamped to the ship and Knock Out had boarded it.

All things considered, it was a good cycle compared to some of the others. They'd run across each other not that far from the ruins of Velocitron; in other words, he was not nearly far enough from Cybertron to feel comfortable. Little wonder too; not with that warrant on his track record and the hunters behind his trail.

At least this had felt friendly. A flash of the past. Wheeljack was so obviously comfortable with his cramped living space. He had no evident issue with what warrant he himself had. He was just as free and easy as he'd always been. It was almost enviable. Even when Knock Out had tripped over that crate and then gotten glimpse of the nuke packets hid inside, Wheeljack's casual airs still seemed enviable.

What a fragging lie.

They'd both doped up on the pink stuff that night (despite the medic knowing how detrimental it was) and Wheeljack had almost throttled him over something or other (nuke did tend to make aggression worse, Knock Out realized belatedly).

"You ever used before?" he'd asked once he'd calmed down and the high was fading from them both.

Knock Out shook his head and regretted the spinning movement. "Never. You?"

He could hear Wheeljack scoff.

"I had it with me, didn' I?"

A moment later and he added more: "Didn' really use it in the war though. Picked this up on my way out."

The question of why pounded at the medic's head. Why why why- such an incessant scream- no, stream- ur

Of course he'd asked it. The single word had only made the wrecker pull himself up from the ground they were laying on.

"No point lettin' go of hope so long as a war still existed to be won or lost," Wheeljack said.

And now?

That war didn't exist.

That war had been won.

And here they were: hiding from bounty hunters, warrants for stupid arrests on both their profiles, energon lines running with nuke and conversation shared with two who barely knew each other.

"Now I got nothin' to fight for. So why not?"

Health reasons. Anger control. Addiction management.

Knock Out had just slumped.

"Why not," he dully repeated.

They'd made light plans to connect his shuttle with the _Jackhammer_ and travel around together for a while. Maybe with two of them there, they'd keep each other responsible. They'd have company and that would stop the chance to be fools.

Both shared what their current warrants were for. Wheeljack mocked Knock Out's and the medic mocked the wrecker's. The 'crimes' were all so petty. Such excuses just to drag them back and toss them in a prison ship while they waited for a trial that was far from anyone's priority. Lotta good being a war hero was these days.

There was incessant curiosity over the why. Why were they, both former members of the team that had brought back Cybertron, such priorities for such petty reasons? Why were they, both mechs wearing the autobot badge so clearly on their bodies, worth enough to send bounty hunters after?

Neither had an answer.

But the next events led him to one.

Those events involved a failing of their fledgling plan. Knock Out had returned to his shuttle to pack up what he needed for a transition to the _Jackhammer_\- and then the two ships had torn out of space.

The shuttle wasn't docked yet. They weren't connected yet. They couldn't-

The _Jackhammer_ had spun and moved to avoid shots from the hunters while the medic fought his own ship's controls. A comm line opened and Wheeljack's voice sounded...

He didn't know exactly. But it was depressing to hear whatever that tone was.

"I'll lead 'em away. Don' follow me. Frag, go to these co-ord's even. Not like I'm ever gonna."

The coordinates pinged on his dash. Some wayward shot rattled Knock Out's shuttle and made the medic squeak, suddenly far more involved in getting the controls working to move the dumb dumpheap.

"What are those for?" he shot back. Thankfully, his voice sounded far more recovered than it had when he'd uttered that noise nano's before.

"It's registered as a safe spot for bots like us," Wheeljack said, the transmission fading further.

"Why don't you go there then?" the medic couldn't help but ask, even as he grabbed at the dash for support while the shuttle lurched.

He heard one last laugh, cynical as always, before their distance worked harder to cut comm lines. "Cause I don' settle down. I've got a whole universe to explore and more wreckers to find. But you-"

They barely knew each other and still Wheeljack had him pegged.

"-you're no loner. You need a safe haven and a bot to bunk with. Good luck."

The shuttle slid away from the fight. Knock Out slumped down to its floor, shaking with the last residues of nuke and stress from the arrival of his pursuers. There went that plan. There went that friend.

Fragging Cybertron. What had the two of them ever done to get on the planet's bad side?

Why were they such priorities?

Why were they listed as criminals?

Wheeljack hadn't offered an answer. The medic hadn't had one just then. But the mech at the coordinate's 'safe spot' offered something for the query.

No matter what suspicions he or the others had over the cycles had had, it had taken Brainstorm to really answer that question for Knock Out. The seeker may not be the genius he called himself, but he had an undeniable intellect and too much time to think.

"Isn't it obvious?" the colorful mech had asked during that first cycle on the isolated moonbase. It was cluttered, chaotic, and wild here; but the medic had to get used to it, because his slagging shuttle had fallen to pieces crash landing here, leaving him unfortunately stranded.

And no, Brainstorm, that unexplainable situation was obviously not obvious, or Knock Out wouldn't have bothered questioning it so many times.

The seeker moved to a seperate room to point at lists of mechs, cross referenced, notes drawn over- a mess, in other words.

"I've looked at each one that the government targets. I've put together what qualities most share with each other. In the shortest conclusion, since I imagine it's just an abridged version you want-" Brainstorm narrowed his glare and the medic gave him an unapologetic shrug, "...fine. In short, there were two qualities shared that were most common. One: former decepticons who defected, and a few autobots vice versa though they were more rare and possibly confounding variables in the mix. And two: autobots, or neutrals though they also were far more randomly distributed, whose history and current standpoint is fixed in loyalty to our now dead leader. And I've got your track record on file, just like everyone else's: they'd want you locked away for both reasons."

That had really been when the reality of it all had sunken in.

Sure, it would take him more cycles to truly, truly, understand it all, but seeing Brainstorm's hypothesis was sobering enough.

Like an idiot hanging on to foolish hope, he'd denied that. They'd fought. It was the first instance in which Knock Out had learned to not bother arguing with the seeker.

After an especially biting insult, Brainstorm had gone still.

It was fuel for his fire; all the rage and frustration and horrid confusion and betrayal and-and-and-

All bubbling over and-

"-you were never one of us, never one of those last fighters, never there in the early cycles after revival. By your logic, Cybertron would never have scared you offworld to this scrapheap! Why do you need to be out here in the middle of Primus knows where, hiding from a new cybertronian government when you never did anything for or against them?"

Brainstorm hadn't moved. Finally, just when Knock Out was on the cusp of walking off, the seeker lifted a servo to his battlemask. Instead of it sliding back into his helm like Optimus Prime's or Bumblebee's or even Wheeljack's, the mask detached into Brainstorm's grasp. It was offered to the medic, golden metal upside down on the seeker's palm so that the purple was plainly visible to him.

"Because," Brainstorm had answered lowly, "-when I went there to find a place, I found that the new government didn't want me back there either way."

Frag.

There wasn't much talking for a good couple clicks after that. Brainstorm had returned his battlemask to his face and had moved back to some unrecognizable project while Knock Out trailed behind him.

"What do I get to do then?" he finally started up again, only partially aware of how whiny his tone sounded.

"Why should I care?" the other snapped without bothering to look his way.

Because...because...this was his dumb moon! What if Knock Out decided to just disorganize everything here? What then, huh?

The medic was smart enough not to indulge in those thoughts.

"I'm stuck here," Knock Out crossed his arms. "You've got the only ship off this rock and I've got nowhere safe to go anyway."

The gesture the seeker made, never once turning around to make it, was amusingly rude.

"Not my fault you're an atrocious pilot."

Well, that couldn't exactly be argued with.

Another long moment passed in awkward pause before Brainstorm had returned to discussing the current madness i.e. his project. Once again, Knock Out found himself interrupting.

They'd gotten into another spat soon after. It bothered him (everything about this did) that he was just going to sit on some rock while his friends (if he could call them that; if he could have friends; if he could feel confident in every saying someone else was feeling just what he was after all the doubts Arcee and Bee and the rest had unintentionally put in him) in the old Team Prime got blacklisted and harassed by the new council.

"What can you do about it?" the seeker snapped. "You've got no ride, no contacts nearby, nothing."

And all of that was true.

"So then what are you going to do?" Knock Out snapped right back at him.

"What can I do? Go complain to the council and lose my head for it? Go back in time to stop the war at its start? Go start a resistance?" Brainstorm scoffed and turned his back even more pointedly towards the medic.

"I'm going to stay here and build useful things for the friends I don't have," the seeker finished snippidly.

Well, that was depressing. Knock Out couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

It really felt a bit odd to fight like this.

What had happened to him in the last few human months? Battles felt weird now, seeing faces he should want to beat into pulp felt weird now- in short, _everything_ was weird now.

Somehow even more so than they had been during those first few cycles after the kids had found them.

Really, it was almost like the war just...wasn't happening anymore. Like all that scrap the universe of aliens believed about the cybertronian war coming to its end when Cybertron had was true.

The last time he'd really been in close, personal quarters danger was when that vehicon had slagged half his face. But even the events leading up to that injury didn't feel like _the war_. He hadn't been fighting the con. They'd gotten out of a human deathtrap together.

The last event that felt like _the war_ had been watching Optimus cut that mountain apart because that had been an epic reminder of the Prime's power. But there wasn't even a fight after that.

All that to say it had lost a certain sense of familiarity. The war was played out like a game; treating it otherwise meant being assaulted by far too many harsh realities for sanity to remain intact.

And one of the rules of the game was to see exaggeration rather than existence.

Having a rival was almost a stretch of that rule. It meant he was getting too close with one of the Other Side. But the amount of hate involved with a rival managed to balance out the familiarity.

Then Knock Out had up and decided to pop over to Bulkhead's team, bring his rival with him, and M.E.C.H. had decided to play third party and-

And now he was looking over the face of the con and _thinking_ about everything he knew about him (granted, not much) rather than just seeing a con.

A name, an affiliation, weird quirks they'd picked up, last fight he'd been seen at- Dreadwing had a face to him now, a personality. Just like the drone who'd burnt his face had. Just like Breakdown and Knock Out apparently had.

It just didn't feel like _the war_ so long as the enemies all of a sudden started looking like people he'd just worked alongside of, what, three cycles before?

At his side, Wheeljack growled and flexed his servos. Bulkhead knew that sound. He knew that look on his buddy's face. He knew this was about to be a fight that'd feel _almost right_ but _not quite._

Part of him felt ready to mediate. It was a part of him that had gotten lazy and used to how easily Optimus seemed to convince every enemy they ran across lately to just team up and separate non-lethally.

"Shouldna come here," the smaller wrecker started. "You were temptin' fate."

Bulkhead watched him and the con and saw the coming battle. It should've felt familiar. It should have felt normal.

But they'd been working together so recently...

"I'm goin' to beat you into the ground for Seaspray," Wheeljack snarled. Dreadwing matched the expression.

"I have slain more autobots than just that one," he boasted and the smaller wrecker charged forward thoughtlessly.

_Aw Jackie, come on_\- with a sigh, Bulkhead followed. For once, he'd have to be the one who kept his head in the game during a fight against a bot-killer. His preferred style of battle was simply fight without too much overthinking.

In the war, in what was normal for him, he'd never have thought this weirdly.

Dreadwing charged forward, swinging one arm at Wheeljack. The smaller wrecker crashed over the ground into a tree and Bulkhead caught sight of the seeker's curled smile just a nano before the remote control came into vision.

Of course. Bombs. They must be hidden around the trees where neither wrecker had noticed.

Was that how Wheeljack had said Seaspray had died? It was.

The seeker never got the chance to activate these explosives; Bulkhead crashed into him, knocking them both to the ground and the remote to who knew where.

For a flyer, the con was surprisingly strong. The wrecker discovered this after being tossed over.

Punches were thrown. Maces impacted armor and swords nicked at plating. Wheeljack was in the mix, fighting with a fury Bulkhead was lacking.

Not to say the green wrecker wasn't fighting well. That wasn't the case at all.

In fact, when it was Wheeljack who'd been shoved away, it had been Bulkhead that landed the next strong hit against the con. Dreadwing was turning, moving too slow to avoid the hit, optics widening in slight shock.

Shock was an emotional expression.

Bulkhead wasn't supposed to read emotions expressed from his enemies. They were all supposed to be the same slaggers.

There was only the slightest hitch in the velocity of the wrecking ball.

Didn't matter. In the end, it couldn't matter.

_For Seaspray._

He slammed his mace against the side of Dreadwing's face and left the bulky seeker reeling straight into Wheeljack's grasp. Now, where was that relic?

There was a cylinder nearby; its silver stuck out starkly among the golds and reds of the forest. A cybertronian cylinder, without a doubt. Bulkhead jolted for it and pulled the key out.

"Got it!" he shouted, turning back to the fight.

Didn't look like he was really needed. Wheeljack was the only mech standing, even if he was leaking from multiple bludgeons and lacerations. With his battlemask shut, only his narrow optics were visible. They widened and then the smaller wrecker was giving a nod.

_«Got a bridge you can give us, Sunshine?»_ the swordsmech asked over their squad-to-base commline.

Despite sputtering from the other end, a groundbridge did tear through the air a few meters away. Wheeljack leaned over to pick up one of his blades from where it had fallen and then paused upon straightening up.

"Oh." He glanced at Bulkhead. "One more thin'."

The whole team thought he was a softie. The big mech, but the friendliest. The least likely to hurt a Earth fly.

He tried his best to keep up that sort of comforting image. Told Miko to look away when he'd tear sparks out or punch deep or any of the violence she didn't need to see at her age (a part of him felt responsible for what she'd done with the insecticons in the last fight; had he been the one to normalize killing for her? had he been at fault for that? ...was that why she hadn't gone to him about it still, even if her upset was obvious?).

And through all that, his team forgot a simple fact: Bulkhead was a wrecker.

They weren't the type to shudder at strong violence.

Bulkhead didn't flinch when the sword stabbed somewhere below the downed seeker's wings.

He thought of that first time Wheeljack, or the shape changer Makeshift at that moment, had arrived on Earth. The pride of seeing him fight again; the flash of swords, the flying heads, the aerial gymnastics.

_**I** taught him that-_

No, Bulkhead didn't flinch at his old partner's brutality. It was admirable. It was good looking, at times.

But he didn't have to like it all the time either.

Neither bothered to check the con before they left. He might have been alive, he might not of. Bulkhead shouldn't stress over it. Even if Dreadwing had worked alongside them so recently, he'd also killed one of their own recently.

And wreckers always were protective of each other.

* * *

There was something undeniably embarrassing about this.

Granted, most things were for him. It had taken time to get used to construction work in the good areas of Tesarus and, more recently, the bad areas of Iacon. There was always an adjustment with change. There was always that awkward period when new coworkers watched him move his way clumsily through supplies and make a fool of himself just by being the klutz he was.

This was the biggest change to adjust to so far in his life though.

Bulkhead was nervous about it. He'd been drafted out of the construction barracks straight into a military one. He didn't have any military training or know any protocol or even carry any weapon mods!

And all these guys were crazy prepared looking. There was a huge gray mech over to his right, keeping some smaller mech in a headlock. There was a bulky femme inspecting a canon bigger than his leg. There were two mechs, a awful yellow colored shuttle and a red hulk, right by the door of this rec room arguing over something or other.

All Bulkhead caught when he walked by was a confusing: "-you keep your carriers on the comm line every time to make sure they can guide you through it?"

"Save that sass for later, Barnicle-b-"

"_Oh_, do you want it?" the yellow mech teased, "Is that it?"

Alright, so, that was all _something_. So _glad_ he'd overhead that. Bulkhead kept walking past the verbal fighting or flirting or whatever that was and tried to approach the energon dispensers casually.

Unfortunately, he managed to get the dispenser tank knocked to the ground when he turned around.

"Sorry!" Bulkhead waved his servos placatingly, accidentally spilling the fuel from the cube he was still holding all over both himself and the floor. "Sorry-"

Ah scrud, scrud-

He dropped down to pick up the tank and put it back as gently as he could, and then tried to escape the room.

That plan was interrupted by the yellow mech he'd seen by the door. The shuttle, awfully small for his frametype, had servos planted on his hips and was looking straight up at him.

"Hey mech!" he piped up and Bulkhead felt his own jaw slacking.

Oh- right! Talk back. No big deal. He'd done plenty of talking during his shifts in building zones and all.

"...hello?"

Green optics sparkled with some sort of mirth. If the mech had a mouth, it'd have probably been smiling.

"You seem a bit nervous," the stranger continued. "You new here?"

"Oh. Yeah!" Bulkhead answered. A bit too energetically, he realized right after.

The yellow mech gave him a little punch in the shoulder, offering the same servo a moment after it dropped from his arm.

"You want me to show you around then?" he offered.

Yes please.

"U-um, okay?" the green mech 'answered'.

Those brightened optics rolled, but the mech started moving around the lounge.

"So, that's it for this room," he finished a few clicks later, turning to face Bulkhead once more. "The outpost is a whole lot bigger and so far there's probably way too many of us here. The draft for this unit typically targeted the heavy lifters like you, so don't worry about fitting in."

That was somewhat reassuring. The kindness behind it was at least, even if he doubted a klutz like him would ever fit in.

"But this-this is _military_, with commanders, and rules, and expectations. I don't real-"

A new mech shoved his way into the conversation without warning. He was big, coated in fresh looking turquoise polish, and had spun the shuttle around.

Did everyone here just shove their way around? Seemed nothing like the orderly stiffness he expected from military.

"Hey-oo, Barni," the big teal mech interrupted them vocally. Bulkhead's words died in the air as he watched the scene unfold.

The bot he'd been speaking with a moment before glanced over at the one behind him.

"Your memory fritzed again, Altus? You can't seem to hang on to names." Green optics shot to their widest state as though he just now realized something incredible. "You need me to knock your processor back in order?"

"Ooh! Wait!" a different voice came in and then some new mech bounced into the conversation, rotors swinging wildly behind him. Two sets of claws tapped each other in excitement.

There seemed to be a collective groan from the other bots in the room. The single optic'd mech took no notice.

"Can I do it for you?"

The one apparently named Altus shoved his way out of the room, the cyclops cackling in fast pursuit.

It was a short moment before the yellow mech turned slowly

"Anywayyy." The shuttle started up again, voice betraying his inability to take the conversation seriously. "You were saying...oh, something about how you are a real young guy, in the head at least, never got a weapons mod, never even hurt a turbofox, who'll break down at the slightest reprimand from an officer. All that sound right?"

Well, that was...harsh.

"Not trying to offend you, but it just seemed like that's the kind of scrap you were about to spout. Look, we're all in that together here. None of us know the least thing about fighting outside of the occasional street brawl," the yellow mech shrugged. "You don't fit in with military life? None of us do either."

"No-o, I just meant- I-"

The mouth-free face couldn't smile or frown, but the mech seemed like he was waiting patiently regardless of lacking telling expression. The patience, so different from the verbal spatting with those other mechs, prompted Bulkhead to keep going. "I was in construction, not a big job. Just another worker. I don't know how to have a- a commander or fight somebot or-"

"Hey, mech." The stranger, soon to be his teammate, put a servo on his shoulder. "You know what my last job was?"

Of course not. They'd only just met now.

"What was it?" Bulkhead asked curiously.

The other laughed and then leaned forward as if he was about to impart a great secret.

"I was a film producer in Helex," he whispered and then laughed again.

Bulkhead blinked slowly.

"Um. Well that is pretty different than the army."

He felt that same slap on his shoulder; it reminded him of the mechs at the building projects, always hitting each other and overworking, and crashing in one laughing heap. He was gonna miss those guys. He was even gonna miss the overworking part of it all.

"That's my point!" the other mech said gleefully.

They both laughed then and Bulkhead was reassured to realize it wasn't being forced or sounding stilted. It was a free laugh. Like the earlier banter and 'spat' had been.

He had thought officers skinned recruits for having fun like that. Maybe not...

"So? Feel a little better?"

Still smiling from laughter, Bulkhead nodded.

"More than a bit. You-"

Aaaand interrupted again. What was wrong with these people?

The new guilty mech had come up and tackled the shuttle from behind, wrapping sharply edged arms around the round bot. His head came up next to the ex-film producers and the green mech could see the teasing grin on that smooth face.

"Jackie!" the yellow mech tried to duck out of the hold. The one called Jackie laughed but did not relent his hold until Bulkhead's new friend dropped flat down to the ground and crushed the passenger. The green mech couldn't hide a wince; that had to have hurt. But the newcomer was rolling back up to his pedes, chuckling never ceasing even as he slid an arm around the yellow soldier's shoulder and looked Bulkhead up and down.

"New guy?" Jackie asked, speaking the question out slowly. Did he think that said 'new guy' was slow or-

"Bulkhead," he answered with a sheepish grin and wave. The shortest of the mechs moved his gaze to the flapping servo, which dropped down to his side in embarrassment.

But Jackie just met his optics with another slow grin.

Maybe everything the guy did was slow; dragged out, lazy. Not judging, just-

"Nice to have you with us, Bulk. Now-" he finally disentangled from the yellow mech and offered a cocky salute to them both. "-Sad as it is to go, I've got to meet with the slag-er, commander. Just thought I'd come by an' tell you that Altus is on a warpath to get you since you sic'd Whirl on him."

The two left behind watched him saunter out. Saunter _slowly_, Bulkhead noted with his own amusement. The mech beside him shook his head with a chuckle.

"That's Wheeljack for you," came the explanation for mirth. "Always quick to leave. Good mech, though. Not everyone here is."

Well that was a...anxiety provoking statement. Bulkhead wasn't entirely sure how to take that.

"Uh-" he started up.

The other gave his arm an absent hit.

"It's alright, big guy. I'll tell you who to tackle and who to avoid."

"R-really?" Bulkhead brightened up. "Thank you!"

"Anytime, mech," the shorter mech's green optics fritzed with light. "How about we start now?"

How about that?

The way his smile crawled into place was reminiscent of Wheeljack's a moment before.

"Alright with me, so long as we start with the first of you bunch to be tackled," he prodded.

The beat that followed could have been choreographed with its perfection.

Actually, since this guy had been a film producer before the draft, it could very well _have_ been choreographed.

"Oh!" the yellow mech broke the pause with alert realization. "Right. I'm Seaspray. And like Jackie said: Welcome to the team."

Bulkhead smiled at his new friend.

"Glad to be here."


	45. Too Often

Soundwave throws himself a pity party.

The battle in Egypt commences, Arcee has some questions to ask, and Optimus faces Megatron for the first time since finding the star saber.

* * *

Another _failure_.

One of four keys to be used in the revival of their homeworld: in the autobot's servos.

A part of Soundwave felt it apt to not consider it real failure. If the autobots collected all four keys, then they would resurrect Cybertron. If the decepticons collected them, the outcome would be the same. Both factions wanted their planet back.

As with many facets of the war, they shared a goal. And as with those facets, it still mattered significantly who was the first to reach that goal.

Lord Megatron desired to be Cybertron's savior. The PR such an action would amount to was simply incredible. Neutrals would find him their unlikely hero. Aliens would see him as a commander so loyal to his planet that he spent millennias searching for a cure to its destruction. Autobots would question their inability to have saved their planet in his stead.

It was more than for his image, however. Lord Megatron wanted to revive Cybertron to better create a planet like that he imagined (or his current dream for the world: past imaginations drew a far different picture for the planet. It did not matter. Soundwave would not complain and he would always follow). It seemed possible from everything they had pulled from the Iacon Database thus far. But it also seemed unlikely.

Many of his Lord's plans were.

The communications officer tilted his head downward. It was not his place to think thusly.

Nor was it his place to fail his Lord.

Three autobots were no threat to him. They should not have even distracted him from the real prize. The wrecker had not distracted him from the resonance blaster. A pair of traitors should not have stolen his focus from one of these keys.

Plating bristled upward minutely. None around him would even notice. None tended to see his reactions unless he let them.

The only one deserving of such a sight was his leader. And Lord Megatron had not yet returned.

The part of Soundwave that wished insolently he would not was childish. He would not amuse such thoughts. His Lord would return, hear of his failure, and move on. The disappointment would add itself to Soundwave's growing list.

It had not been a good solar cycle for him. Vorns without failure took their toll now.

It did not make sense.

Concentration on this achieved nothing. Soundwave moved back to decoding the final set of coordinates. At least he would have something for his Lord once the mech returned.

* * *

It seemed as though every time he had come close to decoding another entry to the database, something urgent interrupted that progress.

Optimus had just finished the third set and sent both wreckers to it before the first of the emergencies came in. As Ratchet had ordered, the Prime stepped away from his work and moved through the groundbridge. The star saber was pulled from where it lay against the wall and attached behind him.

Smokescreen had sent an SOS merely asking for immediate help. Arcee had sent an alert of her own: one far more detailed in its briefness.

The two had fallen ill of Megatron and Starscream.

He could not allow them to be damaged.

So Optimus headed into battle.

It wasn't long after that when a second SOS arrived at the autobot base. As the sole bot left with combat readiness, Bumblebee was quick to have Ratchet bridge him through.

* * *

Arcee was trying her best to get up from the ground. Sand had slipped through plating and rubbed uncomfortably against joints and wires. It was an incessant nagging of a sensation while the rest of her ached. There were emergency pings headed from multiple locations on her frame alerting her to injuries as if she didn't already know they were there by the pain. Her shoulder was dented. Her right winglet was bent far too much to be anything but miserable; a parting gift of a mech far larger than her from when he'd shoved her down.

And her head had been spinning with panic as soon as Smokescreen had left her sight. If the kid got himself hurt- got himself killed-

She'd sent a request for reinforcements the moment she'd gotten her head back in the game after being shoved to the ground. And the moment after that she spent looking frantically for the rookie.

Then he'd burst right out from the wall of the pyramid and taunted the cons.

Straight up _taunted_.

It was almost unbelievable.

Megatron proved to be distractable enough. The warlord shot at Smokescreen, who sped away and took the con's attention with him. That left her with only the other one as she pushed up.

_Wonderful_. Arcee's vents opened to blow away some of that sand and the two-wheeler ignored any of the dribbling energon from the dents on her frame.

Still perched on the pyramid, Starscream was gaping at the sight of Megatron shooting futilely at a phase-shifting Smokescreen. Maybe he was jealous that all those cannon bolts would simply fly through the rookie rather than every damage him. Arcee took advantage of his distraction, transforming her arms into blasters and shoving them in the seeker's direction.

"Don't think about it-" she hissed when Starscream moved to point his own missiles at her.

They held that frozen position for a few nanos, like it was one of those standstills from Bumblebee's favorite movies.

But a standstill could only last so long. Every part of Arcee wanted to fire. It took effort to keep that back; effort, the disgusting second-guessing Airachnid had forced on her, and a fair amount of curiosity.

"Why?" the two-wheeler spat, keeping careful watch on the movements the con hesitated to make. Unsurprising. Starscream always was willing to keep his plating clean of any gunshot. "Why go back to the cons?"

Why bother after everything? After that cave, after their own duel, after playing them all at the mine with the first of the insecticon warriors? Arcee couldn't help but want some sort of answers. Some sort of indication as to why she still lived after their last meeting. And some sort of explanation as to why this slagger would go back to the very mech she had watched attempt to execute him in that cave. Nothing Starscream did ever made sense (so his murder of Cliffjumper would not either, a rational part of her pressed; fishing for reasons would get her no closure, no relief).

His lip curled. It was that same sneer. Always that sneer- whether telling her that he'd been the one to take Cliff from her or drag out what had been a strange rescue from Airachnid.

Somewhere behind her, the fusion cannon was still firing and Smokescreen was still making yelps. She couldn't turn to see them, but could at least take comfort in their unlikeliness to shoot her in the back so long as they were busy with each other.

"I know where I stand here," Starscream hissed back at her question, his arms twitching in the air where he'd been forced to hold them still. The twitching made her prep her guns further. His optics flickered down between her weapons and his own where they lay in less than optimal positioning.

Maybe if she shot, she could tilt the war even more in the bots favor. Obviously, by his own admission, the seeker was back with the cons; if in any way that returned presence would start to create the problems they'd had on Earth before the last few months, then Arcee was totally in her rights to end the threat preemptively. Maybe it would help them all.

And maybe she'd earn Optimus's disapproval.

That shouldn't have been a fair trade.

She remembered the seeker's false plea during the end of their duel: _You might as well be the one to-_

_\- **make it hurt**_

Dammit, Airachnid. Arcee grimaced to the side at the memory and it seemed the movement was all Starscream needed to stop fearing her weapons. He shoved forward, toppling himself off the pyramid and pushing the bot to the sand once more. Before they crashed down together, the seeker had folded up into himself and tore into the sky. The jet's turbines seared hot against her arms as he thrusted up into the air. _Scrap_-

She fired upwards as soon as the heat was gone, all the while scooting over the sand as she tried to get up to her pedes. With the standstill broken, she had a better image of the battlefield. There was Megatron, roaring in the futility of his shots and switching tactics to the blade. And running back towards where she was on the ground came Smokescreen.

Thank the Allspark that he was still alive. She hadn't lied to him earlier: she really wouldn't be able to handle having a rookie on her track record of lethal failures.

Overhead, Starscream was roaring down towards Smokescreen. The stream of shots did nothing but pick up sand; the kid really was safe so long as he kept that phase shifter far enough away from reach. Still, she'd never feel safe with him anywhere near Megatron. The warlord was crafty, he'd think of some way to nullify the effects- No, he wouldn't. Arcee wasn't about to give him that chance.

The femme pushed up and ran at the huge mech. While he was busy moving to charge down the rookie, she flung herself into the air, crashed down on his shoulders, and shot. Shot, shot, shot, until he'd thrown her off and then-

Then a groundbridge opened and Arcee let her panicked urgency slip away.

Optimus was here.

And now, she could actually agree with Smokescreen's earlier statement.

It was three, one of which being the Prime, against two now.

They _could_ take them.

* * *

"Optimus!" Megatron greeted, waving one blade to the side in mockery. It was the usual gesture.

How often had they indulged in these gestures before they'd become so rehearsed? So expected?

He slid into a battle ready stance as the groundbridge closed behind him.

How often did they battle without resolution?

"How good of you to come," the warlord was smiling; all sharp dentae and obvious vitriol.

How often?

Ratchet would say the only correct answer was _too often._

And Optimus had long, long ago learned that Ratchet was almost never wrong.

One servo reached up slowly and took the hilt of the star saber. Megatron's optics tracked every movement. His taunting smile had frozen in place the moment the blade started to become visible over the Prime's shoulder.

The saber grew from cold metal to its blue state of power at his touch; by the time its tip touched the sand, it was fully powered up. The gray mech looked down at it, face curling in hatred.

Optimus was used to seeing hatred on Megatron. But this absolute rage was somehow more noticeable than any other exhibition of it.

It reminded him of a dark room and blazing red optics and his first real meeting with the jealous monster the former champion of Kaon was.

So he did not like the unbalanced power of the star saber? He did not like having to fear being so outmatched? Optimus couldn't bother offering pity for the hateful disgust.

"Scared to fight me without your new toy?" the growl interrupted any thought. The Prime's optics narrowed. His servo curled tighter on the hilt of the saber.

They should exchange repertoire now- witty or magnanimous or a bit of both. And then exchange blows until one fell and the other stood finally victorious. After all, how often had that been what they'd done?

The blade glowed the color of energon and then its energy pulsed through the air. Megatron dove away from the cut easily, letting out a truly chilling snarl. His own gray sword looked pitiful on his arm. Had it always? There would be no grand battle here.

This weapon could have cleaved the very warship of the the decepticons- the repurposed titan stronger than any other foe the autobots faced on Cybertron- in two. One mere warlord would not be a challenge.

But it did not stop Megatron from trying. The mech charged in, trying to limit the distance and thus mobility of the saber. Optimus stumbled back at the first quick blow the decepticon landed. The second was blocked by his free right arm. His left rose and the saber with it.

He caught sight of how those familiar optics widened. He caught sight of the rare flash of fear.

Perhaps that was what kept his strike from hitting straight into his old enemy.

Still, the blade bit through metal and sheared a significant chunk from Megatron's shoulder. The sharp spikes hit the ground with a puff of sand and Optimus took a moment too long to stare at them.

Such a quick strike for such an injury. The warlord's armor was well known to him to be nearly impenetrable. Or it had been, before he had found the weapon of the Primes.

Megatron made a swift response, stabbing his own sword near Optimus's head. The Prime moved it in time and only one finial was torn into.

Then he planted a pede on the silver mech and shoved him forward. Distance was important with a weapon of the star saber's length.

The next strike slid straight through Megatron's own blade. The very one that had twice in recent orns shattered his own short sword: first on the space bridge and then during their fight on the day of the alignment.

If not for his recent mental return to Orion after the fight with Unicron, Optimus doubted he would have felt the twinge of satisfied amusement he did now.

The sound of a jet overhead grew louder. The Prime looked upwards to glare at Starscream, servo still clutching the star saber tightly. The seeker wisely aborted his plan to attack.

When he turned his glare back to the warlord, it was to see the mech looking in hateful disbelief at the stump of blade above his arm and the sharp pieces of shoulder laying on the sand.

Optimus moved to grip the saber with both his servos. He could not help feel somber.

There was a bitter irony in returning Cybertron to life the very orn he tore life from his former companion, after all.

"This is not...But I envisioned...It isn't meant to end this way!" Megatron gasped out as he gazed at the signs of his own mortality.

How very much like his protests under the light of that volcano only moments before Unicron's life-blood began to pour from it.

_This isn't how it's supposed to end!_

Always so deluded into thinking he was a figure of legacy, a legend, the rising darkness- always so convinced of his own importance and immortality.

Optimus frowned under his battlemask.

"You dare use that weapon against me?" the warlord turned from his injuries to growl at the Prime. "To wield the power of the cosmos alone?"

The frown grew. But he waited for the end of his enemy's words. He could afford a dead mech standing the courtesy of speech.

"It is not your place alone to wield such power-" Megatron snarled. "We should have taken our rightful places _together_, Optimus; our place as _gods_! But you steal both spots and strike me down with no heed of our long fight?"

And now his frown slid into nothing. He could not remain angry at such pitiful fury; at the grieving of broken illusions.

The saber pointed up. The warlord had not moved from his spot.

Just as he had gone immobile on the day of alignment. Just as he had when Optimus had kept him down with a pede and prepared to kill him. The cycle he had hesitated too long; the very cycle Megatron had turned the battle around from Optimus's victory. But before dark energon had erupted from the Earth, the warlord had not fought back from certain death. He had waited in stillness to rant over how the battle was going off rails. It was almost as if Megatron had stopped seeing the approaching blade in that moment. Just as he was now.

"I am but a soldier, Megatron," he shook his head minutely and allowed himself this moment to speak as well. "And _you_\- "

One step closer. One higher lift of his arm and the blade. One more moment to preserve this horrid battle before it ended.

"-are a prisoner of your own twisted delusions."

How often had he hoped to show that fact to his former mentor? How often had he tried to pull those delusions away and free the mech from his self-imposed insanities?

Ratchet knew. And Optimus knew, when he forced himself to confront his own futile, hopeful actions.

"Will you keep my helm, then?" Megatron sneered. "Will you keep it by your foolish trophy and count yourself so successful in winning when there was no fair way for me to fight back?"

What a way with words, his enemy had. It was one of the few qualities he retained from the Megatron of old.

But Optimus would not listen any longer.

Sacrifices, even to his own person, had to be made. With the omega lock providing such an ability to shake off the chains of the status quo, he had to grit himself for those sacrifices. This stagnating war could exist _no longer._

Optimus carved energy forward in a wave. At that same moment, Megatron lurched forward towards him, no doubt planning to damage the Prime as much as he could before Optimus could land a single devastating hit with the star saber.

And concurrently to that, another unexpected movement occurred.

A green bridge, tearing somewhere to his left and Megatron's immediate right.

And a seeker, shooting fast towards them both; the jet crashed up against the warlord's side, knocking his charging trajectory off and sending both stumbling towards the nearby bridge.

The two decepticons slipped inside. The vortex closed in on itself only clicks before another wave of blue energy burned and crystalised the sand the bridge had formed above.

Optimus let the star saber drift down to touch the ground while he frowned. He was disappointed; in the fight, in the outcome, in himself.

So they would both live to fight another day? So they would.

Just as they always seemed to.


	46. How To Pout, Decepticon-Style

The surgery had been a miserable event. Soundwave had been told to watch the whole thing while Megatron moved on to work on his newest project. Having the TIC look on from his corner of the room was unnerving. And Starscream had in no uncertain terms threatened to gut him if he messed the surgery up in any way.

At least there had been time between the cortical psychic patch and the surgery that allowed him to research t-cog replacements. XL-2M99 would rather not have Starscream make good on that threat.

Researching an operation and actually initiating one were on two different scales. It served as an apt reminder that, while he had more medical experience than the other vehicons, he was far from trained in the art. One of these cycles, he really could slip up and then Megatron would be _relieving_ him of the position.

XL-2M99 shook that thought off. It was better not to humor it.

After the surgery, he had been left to disinfect his tools and Starscream had wasted no time in bragging about his return to flight all the way out of the medbay. Soundwave slipped out after the seeker and the vehicon was left alone with his work. For the first time that cycle, he let tense plating relax.

Then he was given an alert that three squads of officers would soon be proceeding to the location of new relics. As the ship medic, he should wait on alert for any of these officers should they require aid.

The first to return was Soundwave. He did not come back with injuries.

The second group back came together in a tumble of curses. XL-2M99 could see his lord did have injuries in the video sent across the ship not long after. But they did not seem to debilitate the commander, nor did Megatron seem remotely interested in leaving his own jobs in order to visit the medbay.

The final arrival was Dreadwing. And the seeker joined the other three in not arriving at his office.

But the injuries he wore meant he should have.

XL-2M99's visor brightened as he clipped another clump of leaves away in anger and ignored its fallen presence on his desk. Perched on the medical berth nearby, XL-3T09 let his helm drop into his servos with a groan that the medic ignored. He was too busy thinking to continue their earlier socializing.

Even if the thoughts did nothing but fuel the neurotic destruction of his former stress relief.

_He should have._

* * *

"What do you think you're doing?"

The growl was familiar. It rattled deep through him, as though it could resonate all the way to his protoform.

Starscream knew the feeling.

He also knew he had far too much damn pride to ever stand down until things grew more obviously hostile. Megatron just growled out everything; it didn't always mean he was about to toss him down and yell.

"Saving your life!" Starscream snapped back. They were tangled on the floor of the groundbridge control room and none of the useless drones had bothered to come help either of them yet. He flailed about in another attempt to separate from his leader. That was the last mech in the world he wanted to be playing Twister (a human form of entertainment he only knew about from his cycles alone in the _Harbinger_. He had been starving and alone; _obviously_ the energon deprivation had left him a little fevered in the mind and excused his visits to human entertainment) with, and the sooner he was far, far away from Megatron's physical reach, the better-

"My life?" came the reply, in an even deeper growl. "You think it your place, your initiative, to-"

Aha! Starscream realized which part of the big mech (one of those awfully large arms) he had gotten trapped under after transforming back into root mode on the floor, and wiggled free under the crook of the elbow.

It seemed that the moment it became obvious he would be standing first, Megatron determined it time to simply rise up as well. Fragger.

"Yes!" he interrupted. A click later and his wings had drooped just slightly at the realization he was still back-talking the decepticon leader.

"Did you have any plans to retreat?" Starscream kept his (very small) distance and basked in the false safety such a distance gave him; it let him raise his voice and even jab a digit in indignant lecturing. Oh, he would get it if he didn't stop-

Megatron did nothing but glare. The red optics moved glacially slow from the compensating hiked wings to the offensive finger and finally to the seeker's face. It was obvious why he moved his gaze so slowly. It built suspense. It made everyone in this room nervous.

Just when Starscream was beginning to feel the need to recant everything he'd said and offer some sort of spineless praise, the other spoke up. Of course, it was all timed; of course, Megatron knew his body language well enough to know exactly when such a tipping point between obstinacy and nervousness would hit its apex.

_"No one-"_ he started up dangerously and Starscream felt his wings drop right back down. Every drone in the room had frozen as though scared their movement would draw that danger. "-forces me to retreat until I give that command."

How very familiar. Hadn't Megatron started off on this scrap that very cycle he'd returned from dark space? Oh yes, he had. He'd tossed Starscream to the floor, stepped ever too tight on his chest, and given his ultimatum._ No one rids me of Optimus Prime but me._

It seemed he was every bit still that stupid fool.

But this was different than Starscream trying to kill Optimus alone! This was a totally different scenario with a different set of rules. Megatron could not have hoped to survive if he had remained!

And Starscream had failed to allow such a thing to happen; he had failed to stand back and let the Prime kill his foolish leader so that he could instead take the helm of the decepticon army. There could have been many reasons behind that: an army was useless against the power of that new weapon, the death itself would have been little more than a martyrdom for the decepticons to view in awe, etc. If only he himself could figure out what the real reason had been.

"Master, please," Starscream began in his most convincing voice, "-be reasonable; you would have died out there had you remained! Retreat was the only option for you to regain your strength and best the Prime another time!"

He found it relatively convincing. It seemed by the slight curl upwards on Megatron's face that he found it appealing as well.

And then the mech was stepping forward. One single step in all its threatening glory.

"I would have, wouldn't I?" Megatron mused aloud, before shaking his head with a chuckle. "No matter. Do not force me into a retreat again. Do you understand, Starscream?"

So. After everything, the damned mech still did not feel grateful?

Starscream really should have left him to Optimus's blade.

"Of course," the seeker ground out and the submission felt like acid in his mouth.

And then Megatron was smirking yet again.

"But it was an admirable show of loyalty and quick thinking."

The change in thoughts were enough to make Starscream's head spin.

"Perhaps your current ranking should be reconsidered."

_Well then._ Head spinning or not, he wasn't complaining.

* * *

He was the last to arrive at the _Nemesis_. But he was not the only one to return with empty servos. That played a small role in comfort. Very small.

Dreadwing called for a bridge rather than flying back as soon as he realized his own inability to stand straight. The wrecker had cut through below his cockpit before leaving. That was the most concerning of his injuries. The rest were merely abrasions dealt by both autobots. Painful, but they would not have prevented flight. The stab wound raised different concerns; wounds like that were often debilitating to transformation. He was not a fool enough to try it.

After his last return from the fight with the traitorous Airachnid's army, Dreadwing had leaked over the floors of the warship. This time, he would not provide such an inconvenience. Despite his own inability to turn his neck and see the injury, the seeker felt it out with a servo. It was leaking profusely. That would not do.

Cauterizing with his one gun had not been easy. But there were no others in the forest to hear him roar out.

After the stab wound was melted over, he dropped the still hot weapon and called for a bridge.

Though he would not fly, he would not show weakness in walking. Dreadwing stalked from the control room towards the bridge. He had to report his failure to his master.

Megatron had not looked surprised at the news.

"I see. That is most disappointing news," the warlord had frowned, before turning away from him to stare out the warship's window.

Dreadwing waited in respectful silence to hear more. As though his continued presence was enough to prompt that more, Megatron spoke up again.

"Oh, and Dreadwing?"

The seeker waited. His back ached. His pride ached more.

"I gave a shipwide address earlier. I expect you to listen to it. You'll find it rather relates to you."

On his way out of the bridge, Dreadwing could see Starscream smirking at him. The bigger seeker growled and moved away, uncomfortable in how the traitor's smirk followed his departure.

The path to his quarters had him pass by the medbay. Its doors were open and Dreadwing looked in. There were two vehicons inside. The seeker looked at the room, as peaceful as it was, and then continued on. Self repair would deal with his wound. He would not need to hurt his pride by returning for aid so soon after his last set of injuries.

Once he was seated at his sparse desk, Dreadwing found the ship-wide alert his master spoke of.

"_Decepticons_," the Megatron on the feed started up. Even on a video, the voice was commanding.

It always had been. Before the war, he would visit the speeches held with Skyquake-

Dreadwing shook the thoughts off and merely listened.

"Recent demoralizing events have forced me to consider changes. And first among those changes is a slight restructuring of your high command."

_He tried not to feel bitter over the news. Every mission he had gone on lately had ended in failure on his part. That warranted whatever demotion was to come._

It did not matter if he was a first lieutenant or a mere soldier; what mattered was staying and serving at Megatron's side. It was what he and Skyquake had long ago swore to do.

_"I have determined to split apart the before singular position of first lieutenant and air commander. Commander Dreadwing will remain my official second in command. But former commander Starscream will be reinstated from this moment forth as the decepticon air commander. The two will work concurrently in stratagem until further notice."_

Further notice?

This was but a transition. Further notice only meant that Megatron was trying to soften said transition.

It would not be long before a traitor was once again the sole second in command.

Dreadwing clenched his fists under the desk for just one moment and then released that tension.

He was never cut out to be a leader. He had not done any satisfactory amount of strategy as the 2IC. This was for the best.

Even if it would mean that the armies would be led once again by mechs who cared nothing for the wellbeing of the faceless soldiers.

There was a feeling of inadequacy at that. Perhaps if he had done a better job, had succeeded in bringing the relic back this cycle or killed Airachnid in the last- perhaps then he could have remained with this position. It had never before appealed to him, but now he felt a defensive attachment to the job. He had no desire to see the vehicon armies handed over to Starscream once more.

Perhaps if he had done better, he could have remained at their head and led them to a future they deserved.

There was a rap on his door. Dreadwing shut the terminal off and signaled for the door to open, wondering all the while who would be here this time. Maybe Starscream, visiting to gloat. Or maybe the medic, as he had been Dreadwing's last visitor.

It was neither. But it was a vehicon.

There were few identifying features on the soldiers. Dreadwing did not know this one's name at first glance. But a few details gave him suspicions. He was a flyer. He had his servos on his hips rather than offering a quick salute. There were no other ways to identify him, but Dreadwing found himself believing it to be XL-2M99's friend. They spent obviously valued time together, but the forged seeker had never been formerly introduced to the flyer. He did not know his name.

"Commander Dreadwing." The vehicon gave a single nod in the place of a salute. He did have that vehicon's voice, as Dreadwing remembered it from their one meeting in the drone recreation room. Along with an evident lack of esteem that warred with the proper title usage and somehow found its balance between disrespect and respect.

"Greetings," Dreadwing offered a single nod of his own, standing from his desk. "What is your purpose here?"

If the drone found that rude, he did not show it. There was almost something amusing about tiptoeing the line between rude and respectful with a mech that did the same to him. Dreadwing had not intended to sound as such, but found himself with a distinct lack of regret on the outcome.

"I'm just here to give you a message," the vehicon said. After a pause, he pointed at the room. "Can I come in?"

The bigger seeker nodded and signaled the room's lights. No need for it to remain dim in here with his new company.

They both stood facing each other down, as though squaring the other occupant up. Reading the situation as such was foolish. They were all allies here.

Or at least the vehicons were, even if some officers left much to be desired in the area of loyalty. Dreadwing found himself scowling again.

"What is your message?" he asked as he put thoughts of Starscream behind him.

The vehicon broke their standstill to lean easily against the far wall.

"It's from our mutual medic friend."

Then Dreadwing had a good idea of what this 'message' would entail. That did nothing to encourage him towards the medbay for the stabbing ache below his cockpit.

"Please tell XL-2M99 that I do not require repairs," he said.

And he himself would go tell Soundwave to stop sending pictures of him being injured to their resident doctor. The communications officer did not seem to grasp that some wounds were meant to be reminders and dealt with solely by the warrior who had allowed them to befall upon their frame.

"Really?" The vehicon did not sound convinced.

Dreadwing sighed.

"I saw injuries on our master when I arrived on the bridge. Surely our doctor would be better suited in working on his wounds."

Why Megatron had not already seen fit to visit the medbay was lost on him, but he would not question his commander again so soon. He had already found it in him to question his master far too often lately.

"Yeah, he didn't want any repairs," the flyer waved Dreadwing's argument off. "Believe me, I would've left the medbay earlier if Lord Megatron had come in to be operated on."

As he had suspected. No matter. He glared. "And I do not want any either. So why are you here?"

There was a smile in the vehicon's voice when he spoke next. Without a face to confirm such an expression, it seemed drones worked hard to telegraph through vocal abilities alone.

Or perhaps Dreadwing was just learning to read their languages better than he had before.

"I told you," he replied with that vocal humor. "Our mutual medic friend wants you to come for repairs. It's different from the situation with Lord Megatron."

Then...

"He told you this?" the seeker asked.

There was no denying that part of him wished it were true. It had been vorns since he had last had a mech worried over his health. Most were brusque like the other decepticons in the high command or even the frosty demeanor of their vehicon medic.

"No, but it was easy for me to piece it together. He's been busy stressing out over you," the flyer shrugged.

Stressing out...?

Dreadwing frowned. "I do not believe my injuries to be severe, nor would I believe our medic's reaction to be worried."

It had been too many vorns. He had come to believe the only other mech that could worry about him was Skyquake.

Not long ago, he had believed Megatron did as well. But it did not matter if his master did not. He would follow him regardless. It did not _matter_, he swore to himself.

"Oh yeah?" the vehicon scoffed. "He's been obsessively chopping his weird organic tree apart ever since getting the memo you came back injured. By the time we get over there, there probably won't be anything left of it."

By the time- _wait_. His optics narrowed again.

"Yeah, 'we'." The flyer repeated that last confusing bit, before pointing at the door. "You're going for repairs if I have to coral you over there."

Such insolence.

There were a couple of responses he thought to say. _I am your commanding officer,_ for instance. _Or I never had the impression you wished to spend extra time with me._ None of the vehicons from the recreation room seemed to, after all.

Dreadwing chose "I do not understand" over the rest of his more eloquent options.

The vehicon that he did not know the name of (he knew only the designations of the dead, of those he had let die, and the single identifiable vehicon serving as the medic on board) shrugged again.

"Maybe I'm just trying to repay a favor. You got back all their bodies. You even accepted the request a few of us dared to make to get XL-4U1L's body back even after the _Nemesis_ had left that Earth grid behind. We've never had a 2IC that humored requests like that before. And maybe-"

He pushed off the wall and paused by the door, waiting for the seeker to follow or acknowledge.

"-maybe it's just cause I don't like seeing him upset," the drone stated, before crossing his arms pointedly. "Do you?"

When the flyer left a moment later, Dreadwing was begrudgingly in tow.

* * *

_AN- XL-4U1L was mentioned at the end of chapter 38._


	47. Let's Talk About Me

"All that I seem to do is spend the night  
Just talking 'bout you and your problems  
No matter what I say I can't get it right"  
Or: Knock Out jumps off that edge he's been crawling on for a while.

_AN- Additional content warning here for mentions of 'fragging'._

_First and second scene occur in the past. Specifically, the second scene occurs some time after Knock Out gets his autobrand but before he visits the outside world._

* * *

It happened again during one of his trips to Earth.

Knock Out was pretty sure Ratchet was avoiding Cybertron. The last time he'd seen the old medic there, he'd been sitting right up close and personal with the Well. At least on Earth there was nothing quite so, well, _deadly_ as the fall into the Well would be.

So instead he caught the old medic outside this odd human base. Kicking up sand and stones with his back to a cliffside. It was a pathetic picture. Knock Out reminded himself that calling a teammate pathetic for going through emotional turmoil was not _the autobot way._ So he sat down next to (or near, at the least) his new mentor and asked why his training hadn't happened that morning. Of course, he knew the answer. It was because Ratchet was out here instead in there '_teaching_' (begrudgingly, Knock Out had started to admit that he didn't know everything the old medic was educating him on, so the word teaching was only half sarcastic in his mind) him stuff.

Their conversation was weird. He was used to the energetic talks of Bumblebee or the sarcastic wit of Arcee. Ratchet did something else when he was in one of these _moods_.

He dug for regrets.

It hadn't quickly occurred to Knock Out that maybe the mech just wanted company that could sympathize with ridiculous amounts of self-condemnation. Ratchet wanted someone who understood being stuck in the past; being trapped with guilt undeserved.

Down the road, he started to realize that (not that Knock Out could be that mech; he looked to the past too often, but the little guilt he made himself carry after joining the autobots was far from undeserved).

Of course, down the road, Knock Out had run face first into too many of those _realizations_.

Arcee dropping away from contact, though not without a final goodbye.

Wheeljack laying on the floor of the _Jackhammer_ with veins full of nuke and head stuck in regrets.

Bulkhead waiting for the team to come back to him on a planet that the rest had already left.

Ratchet's reassignment to war-criminal hunting, Bumblebee's lost confidence, Magnus's involuntary retirement and disappearance into space within the _Iron Will-_

It had taken staring down his own warrant for Knock Out to truly swallow down the bitter truth. Team Prime was well and truly gone. Every bit of that odd comfort he had found so enthralling had been diluted by the chaos of an expanding city. Maybe if they'd kept together stronger- if they'd stood up more for their own vision of the world- for Optimus's vision- maybe then the peace time could have worked for them all.

Maybe Ratchet could've gotten a better chance to find a friend that could offer up a world of regrets when the old medic dug for them _just to prove_ to himself that other mechs did it too.

The humans said that hindsight was 20/20.

Cybertronians, obviously, weren't limited to that standard (20/20 vision was a silly human concept, after all, and not one perfectly applied to cybertronian optic), but the expression worked at its core. And Knock Out was angry at himself for missing so much until so far 'down the road'.

At that moment, however, he hadn't figured out why Ratchet was digging around for his regrets. The younger medic shared a very censored version of a few and watched the older doctor's reactions carefully.

Ratchet listened, though. He really did. Even while he frowned and his pede kicked the stupid little rocks littering the organic ground, he still seemed like he was paying attention. No, he wouldn't stare at Knock Out while he did and that made him feel habitually annoyed (and offended), but he would prod whenever the younger medic drifted off and that confirmed he was paying attention.

When he was done discussing a heavily sterilized version of the unhappy time Breakdown's signal had come back because of some parasite's doing, the flashy mech narrowed his optics at the listener who had started this downer of a conversation.

"And what do you regret?" Knock Out asked.

The older medic scoffed, kicking out a pede against the ground again.

"What don't I?"

What a total idiot. How did Ratchet, the fragging _autobot_ CMO, have anything worth regretting?

He remembered the conversation at the Well and winced. Cycles later, he'd remember both those conversations and find them wince-worthy.

And still he felt the slightest tinges of offense over Ratchet's martyr complex. The older medic didn't have any sort of moral stain blotting his future with the autobots. He didn't have any sort of still living rival to contest his position as the best doctor among cybertronians. He really was being an idiot.

But Knock Out was supposed to be making allowances for personal stupidity. Apparently, every mech had the right to find their own regrets and then pour over them. That's what Optimus would have allowed, according to what he'd gathered from the others and what he'd seen of the big guy.

Not for the first time, he wondered what it'd have been like to really talk with the famed autobot leader. He couldn't help but feel it would have a sort of... _resolution_ that talking about this scrap with Ratchet failed to manifest.

* * *

Solar cycles later (or earlier, in a matter of speaking), Knock Out got to have his answer.

The problem was that Optimus Prime was a rather intimidating conversation partner.

That didn't stop the mech from trying to listen.

A short time after he'd gotten his shiny new badge, the Prime caught him flicking at the brand with a frown. Obviously, such a misleadingly brief flash of expression could be read wrong. Optimus didn't really seem suspicious when he stepped into the small downstairs storage room with the young medic.

"Excuse me," the Prime said and Knock Out had jumped (and shrieked, though he'd rather not remember that embarrassing detail).

While he composed himself, Optimus looked over the room rather than at him. Or maybe his plan had always been to look over the room. Or maybe it was a bit of both; yes, he thought he liked that option best.

"I must go scout for energon."

"Oh," Knock Out replied intelligently. His head still hadn't recovered from his embarrassing reaction.

"Our storages are running low."

"_Oh_," he repeated, this time catching on to the conversation. Well, what now..? "Sorry about that."

Optimus looked over from the few luminescent cubes and met his stare. "It is not your fault."

Even if it _kinda, sorta_ was. He had told them as many energon mine locations he could remember, but it was far from all of them. And he was here, and with him was Breakdown, and apparently the both of them warranted having an extra wrecker at the base- and all this was to say, the strain on reserves was rather his fault for starting this all.

"Why not take someone with you?" Knock Out asked, proud to hear that his voice had regained its usual smooth timber. "I would even say I volunteer for it. Breakdown and I could use some time outside."

The offer received a shake of the head.

"No. You received the autobrand this cycle; that is an event worth celebrating. I imagine the others have already planned some sort of activity," Optimus said, before adding on as if in afterthought: "It is one of the reasons I am going scouting now.

Was that a _joke_? The medic wished he had more time to figure that out, but it seemed the Prime had already moved on to different topics.

"In fact," he was saying and the red mech straightened up in full attention once more. "I am surprised to see you in here and not out...partying."

Aha. So he had noticed the way Knock Out was sulking in here.

"I will, soon enough. I just-"

Just what? If he knew, maybe he wouldn't be in here 'sulking' in the first place. The medic flicked at his new autobrand absently.

"-I just haven't really...taken it all in?"

That sounded more like a question than it should have. Optimus was looking concerned, or somehow slightly more concerned than his default. The big mech had moved close to the medic, setting a comforting servo on one of his shoulders. Knock Out, in the meantime, coughed to regain some semblance of his usual suave. He started up again just about the moment the Prime's mouth had opened to speak once more, though the medic hardly noticed his preemptive interruption.

"What I mean to say is, this is a big day for me." Knock Out smiled wide, glad to note how confident he now appeared. What? Appearances were important, slag it!

"Getting to wear you, your badge, is great, even if I can't wear it quite as iconically as you do; not that I look bad with this, far from it, it's just that you are the codifier for au..."

Well, well, was this what the humans called a 'rabbit hole'? Knock Out had a feeling he'd jumped down it and was attempting to touch the familiar during free fall. Unfortunately, the 'familiar' happened to be a tone thick with suggestiveness and...well, flirting with his boss wasn't exactly something he needed to be trying for.

"Ehem." The medic let his engine cough again while he put a dainty servo over his mouth. So what if it was a human gesture; he happened to have picked up a few here and there from all the movies he'd watched. "That's not what I meant to say. I'm in here because I'm thinking. That's all."

The expression Optimus wore had not changed through it all. Either all his blundering had gone right over the Prime's head or Optimus just happened to be good at hiding his expressions. Knock Out hoped it was the former.

"We took steps before the Rite," he said slowly, concern so evident it hurt. "You were so earnest that you were ready, but perhaps it was rush-"

The defector interrupted (_interrupted_. The Prime. It was on the same level of audacity as interrupting Megatron or-or Primus himself...oh well. Knock Out had always considered himself an audacious mech) before he could finish.

"It's not that!" The medic stepped out from under Optimus's servo in favor of pacing. "It's just that I've got this now, but every time I look at him I don't see it. And that's...that's-"

_Hard on me_

_Unthinkable for me, though I'm trying to think it_

"-weird for me. Breakdown always followed my lead in the past."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Knock Out renewed his pacing.

"It's part of the reason I came here, actually. Part of the reason I wanted this badge. I want to let him be his own person. I want to see him as somebody instead of just expecting him to follow me." The pacing wore out again. "But it's still weird to see him without a brand when I've got one," he sighed, tapping the thing on his chest again. "Neither of us ever wore one, you know. So for that rule to be broken by me but not both of us? I don't know. I just- I don't know."

They'd talked about this before. Enough so that Knock Out didn't feel too defensive bringing it up and spilling it out for the Prime. But most of their talks were short and rotated around what it 'meant to be an autobot' or the plans for the team that day. The autobots here were very apt to simply live in the moment; long term planning just wasn't very doable when so much relied on spontaneous energon grabs or Iacon decodings.

"I understand," Optimus stepped forward again. Knock Out looked up from the autobrand to stare at him. "It is never easy to see a friend disagree with you- but it is an inevitable part of life. You yourself said as much just now."

Well, maybe, but not in so eloquent of words- the doctor preened up a little at the silly compliment.

"While I remain hopeful that Breakdown will desire to join the autobots, I am still proud that you have made that decision. Regardless of what your partner will decide, you still pushed to undergo the Rite." The Prime didn't smile, but it was audible in his voice. "I am glad to call you one of my autobots."

It melted right through him until Knock Out felt as weak as he had by the Well._ I never had the best role models,_ he'd said without thinking. He'd say things without thinking anytime Optimus started up like that. _Acted like a Prime, one of my autobots_\- scrap, it felt so good it practically hurt.

"Well, I- I'm glad to be here," he replied.

Optimus set a servo on his shoulder again to squeeze it. He'd seen the Prime doing that with many of the bots around the base. _One of my autobots_ indeed.

"And I have known many mechs who underwent the same struggles you are feeling now towards your partner," Optimus said. "Any one of us at this base will be willing to hear and offer advice, should you find you need it."

Maybe not the wreckers, but besides them? Yeah. Knock Out believed it. Ratchet had great advice underneath a mountain of bitterness and Arcee seemed pretty willing to offer an audial and recommendations.

"I'll remember that," the medic smiled again. "But I really do think we've been getting on fine. With each other, and with this whole situation."'

A half-truth. Knock Out still wasn't always confident that Breakdown was getting along with him. Sometimes the blue mech seemed distant, grumpy when the medic asked him for his opinions, unwilling to try this new game called autobot equity.

But sometimes he thought they were doing 'just fine'. Granted, he worried that some of those instances were just a bit of blindness to the true expressions of his assistant, but really. What was he supposed to do? Be perfect at this scrap 100% of the time?

"Then you believe you and your partner are accumulating well to our base?" the Prime asked after Knock Out had delivered his statement.

In all honesty...

Yes, actually. So far as he could tell. And he'd been taking extra care to look_ real closely_ at how Breakdown was acting around base.

"Yeah." Knock Out's grin grew. "I think we are."

They separated and the medic went for the door first. A celebration probably would feel great. They hadn't left the base yet, so that needed to be checked off the list. And maybe a party or two would start loosening Breakdown up, have him start to see the autobrand in a more attractive light.

It hurt to have something he felt so important be so dismissed by the mech.

That last thought slowed his departure down. It let Optimus catch up. After a moment of standing in the doorway blocking the Prime in, the bigger mech spoke up. "If you ever need to speak about any problem-"

The offer was rather incredible. Knock Out stalled, thinking of a half dozen conversation topics he both wanted to drag out and wanted to hide; doing here what Ratchet had wanted him to do in that post-war lull before Cybertron went off its rockers both seemed far too intimidating to indulge in and far too good to pass up. Maybe if he gave an uncensored version of those regrets Ratchet had fished for, the listener in the here and now would hear it all somberly and then offer advice and praise for his bravery in coming forth and saying it-

_"It could not have been easy to dredge any of that up, nor to bring it forth to one of the veteran autobots of this base. I'm proud of you for finding the necessary courage to tell me..."_

The medic sighed a little by the door where he had retreated back into the room, picturing the delightful scenario perfectly.

But the real Optimus was behind him waiting. The real Optimus hadn't said any of that (yet, a wickedly insatiable part of him thought in delight).

"Er, thanks for the offer." Knock Out shook his head back into the moment and flashed a wide smile. "I'm good for right now."

Optimus gave him a short nod.

"I am glad to hear it. I will need to head out soon. But-" the Prime paused in the doorway to look down at the much shorter mech. "-Knock Out? Do enjoy your first day outside the base. I hope Breakdown will as well."

The medic was giddy the entire time he spent walking back upstairs.

Leaving a conversation with the Big M had always meant a nice thrill of relaxing adrenaline: a 'you survived!' feeling, in shorter terms. Leaving a conversation with the autobot leader was so very different. Maybe if every bot got a chance to have one talk with Optimus Prime before picking a side, there would be more autobots. Sure, the cons were fun and appealing. Being a decepticon meant you could tear anybody up and play around in the lab with no concern for those boring ethics. Still, a few minutes with the big guy telling you he believed in you was enough for those ethics to start looking rather appealing.

Megatron could shove it. This here, this pride in his own ability, was the real way Knock Out felt loyal to a leader.

* * *

Bumblebee took it in stride pretty well.

"_Alright_..." he changed gears, looking between Breakdown and Knock Out. The nurse was currently helping him up to a standing position and he basked in the feeling.

There was something lovely about being helped, being put as more important than the scout in Breakdown's priorities, being told that the next activities were _up to him._

The flashing phrase _'about time'_ ran through his mind.

_"Well do both of you want to then? Breakdown and I were halfway through our marathon, but we could restart for you."_

Knock Out straightened up further.

"Well, when I get all these infernal dents out of me, why not?"

And it looked like he wouldn't have to get them out by himself this time. Buffing alone was always a bore, but he'd insisted on doing it ever since returning to this time. He had to make sure Breakdown wanted to join in, had to make sure Breakdown was interested in that pastime, had to ask Breakdown what he wanted to do with the day first- ugh. He hadn't taken a day off for himself this whole time, had he? He hadn't bothered to talk about what _he wanted_ since showing up here, had he? It certainly didn't feel like it.

How wearing.

He cast a glance up at Breakdown and the blue mech grinned. There. They'd both missed detailing sessions. He could just stop worrying about whether or not the nurse was as excited for this as he was; that grin was answer enough.

_We were good, weren't we?_

They still could be.

Mostly because of the heavy lifting Knock Out had been doing. He'd been _listening_, and double checking, and overall being a good autobot friend.

So maybe it was time they were comfortable enough with each other that Knock Out could do the _talking_.

He had a whole lot of that pent up.

He'd gotten to see who Breakdown really was rather than what he used to think he was, and now it was the big guy's turn to sit and listen. Fair's fair, right? The part of his mind that sounded like Arcee was laughing at him. He got the incessant feeling that that wasn't how it works.

Except...

Except if they were trying to be balanced about all this then didn't Knock Out get a chance to have attention? It couldn't always be second guessing and stepping backwards and- and besides, Breakdown seemed unhappy with that anyways. Unhappy with him. And he didn't like getting that vibe from him.

"And let's not forget-" Knock Out added with a wink. "We've got a club that needs some attention."

Bumblebee stood still a moment, probably trying to figure out what he meant, and then brightened up.

_"Ohh. Yeah we do! But aren't we all a bit busy at the moment?"_

Yes, but what did that have to matter?

"We're just preparing to move it," the red mech waved the concern off. "Imagine how the racing will be on cybertronian roads!"

Those blue optics whirred.

"_Yeah_..." the scout sounded thrilled at the thought. "_Hey, I used to mess around at this one place. The corner circuit, we called it. It was out near the border of Iacon and Vos. I wonder if I can find it when we revive the place!_"

The enthusiasm was contagious.

"I must admit, I never did much racing on a healthy Cybertron."

Being the colony brat he was. But only Breakdown happened to know that.

"But that does sound like an _adorable_ backstreet circuit. We simply must bring the club there," Knock Out grinned. He had the feeling Bumblebee was matching the expression under his mask.

"_Yeah_!" he trilled, before turning to Breakdown. "_Wanna come too? Be an honorary club member?_"

Without being able to help it, Knock Out's grin slipped away a bit. This was supposed to be about the two of them, about him, right now. Why did Bumblebee have to interrupt that?

Breakdown blinked. "Uh. I guess? I'll go and root Knock Out on."

The fledgling frown disappeared at once. He leaned back further into the big mech's support (even if they both knew he was far from injured enough to need such treatment).

"If we're expanding, what about some of the other speed demons we have around?" the medic asked, forgetting that he was supposed to be forever ignoring Smokescreen's presence after the rookie got him in trouble (twice).

"_We can ask them too!_" Bumblebee agreed. He always sounded so young when he got excited. It was endearing. "_And we can think of some other places to try out. Maybe..._"

The scout had started moving away from the groundbridge room in the direction of the medbay, no doubt because he knew he had to be checked over for the still smoking marks Soundwave had left on him. Knock Out slid away from his nurse to follow and keep the conversation up.

It was really enjoyable, really. He had no idea why Bumblebee hadn't spent more time with him lately. Not that he brought such a pointed question up. They were too busy painting a delightful picture of competitions and glory.

It felt delightful to talk about things he found important. It felt delightful to get attention again. Sure, he needed to be careful about not getting carried away, but...he had already spent so long being a good little mech that lived only for others. He deserved to get something of his own; he _had_ to.

Behind them, Breakdown watched on wordlessly because he knew he had nothing to add to their 'club'.

* * *

The first time they had ever tried buffing out was when both were still with the Stunticons.

Breakdown had been sneaking into the medbay ever since that first time Knock Out demanded he "get over here and help" (in more eloquent prose). He didn't have to sneak, per say, but Motormaster had been pretty unhappy to see him in the medbay so often.

But getting in there tended to be well worth his old boss's ire.

After they left the team behind, buffing stayed a staple for the two of them.

When they first landed on Earth and told Starscream their plans to wander the organic planet, they'd still had room in their subspace for the detailing tools.

Doing it now, after a few Earth months break, was relieving. Mostly. It was familiar, at least. So was Knock Out's stream of speech. He was currently set off on something to do with Smokescreen's nerve at dragging him into the _Nemesis_. Breakdown was working on the medic's back with the buffer while he listened. Or mostly listened. Part of him was wondering how the Bumblebee's repairs were going in the other room, and how the other two squads were faring. He'd heard from Ratchet when they were dropping the yellow scout off in his care that things had gone downhill in Egypt. Apparently bad enough that Optimus had needed to go.

Well, Breakdown had been there when the Prime had cut through that mountain. He was pretty sure the two-wheeler and rookie were gonna be just fine so long as the commander was there with his newest weapon.

It was pretty surprising to him that Knock Out hadn't wanted to stay and hear play by play updates on the other squads. But he wasn't complaining that they'd left to go take care of each other. It seemed like the red mech hadn't wanted to let them take care of each other since defecting. They had to trade off on the stupid berth even though Breakdown had volunteered for the floor permanently. They had to talk every little thing over instead of just doing it, which was more his impatient style.

Knock Out had started off on a new complaint. Breakdown listened to it dutifully as he moved the buffer to the back of the mech's legs. They were nice legs. It was a shame, really. He'd always found the mech attractive (who wouldn't?), but Knock Out had never been interested in something when he'd bring it up. He'd brought it up first when still in the Stunticons, like the young idiot he was. Later as they traveled around. Eventually, he stopped bringing it up altogether. So what if Knock Out didn't like the idea of a formal bond? So what if he always changed subjects when Breakdown brought up the suggestion of becoming amicas or trying the conjunx ritus out? It didn't matter. It just meant he was free to frag whoever else he found attractive.

...It did matter. It had always mattered. But Knock Out got weird whenever those two rites were brought up. Breakdown had stopped suggesting them long before they came here to Earth. He didn't like to make his partner unhappy.

And then the world had spun into random directions and they were camped out in a base of softies.

He wondered how the medic would react to the suggestion now. Everyone knew they were partners. Untouchable. They were unbreakable. If one died, the other would react in pain (wouldn't they? he hoped so). Everyone expected they were amicas already, if not more. Why else would they be so close, call each other partners?

The buffer was set aside and replaced with a polishing rag. Knock Out continued to speak, prodding him to join the conversation every once in a while. It was fun. It was familiar.

And maybe it was all about Knock Out. But that didn't matter. Breakdown was a vital part of this detailing session. He was technically a replaceable part, but he always felt that he wouldn't be replaced. Or he had thought that, until they'd come here and Knock Out had gotten so interested in a half dozen other mechs. They hadn't done a detailing session since then. He had been replaced.

But they were back here now, so what did all that uncomfortable fear matter?

The others could say it was weird. They could tell him that he deserved better. Bumblebee had mentioned something along those lines now or then. But they didn't know. They didn't realize that he felt secure when he was pampering the medic. He felt wanted and important and it didn't matter if technically all the care was going to the other and all the talking was being done by him because Breakdown felt safe like this. If the alternative was being ignored while Knock Out ran around with the other autobots and left him behind, then why wouldn't he long for this?

This felt normal.

The sound of the groundbridge came from the other room twice. Once for the team in the desert, once for the wreckers. He was surprised that Knock Out didn't get up and go check on both teams immediately.

But they didn't leave until the summons for a debriefing came from the Prime himself.

Breakdown was still surprised that he didn't have to call him 'his' Prime. Back during that time they broke out high grade, he'd told Knock Out that he'd do it: he'd follow him into the autobots. And when they'd all sobered up, the medic had never brought it up again. He moved so slowly towards doing anything because now they had to double check this, talk about that. As if all of a sudden Knock Out didn't know him better than he knew himself.

Their separation in faction was uncomfortable. But Breakdown had stopped noting it lately. He'd gotten used to being neutral but working with this team. He'd gotten used to seeing that brand on Knock Out.

He'd gotten used to seeing the medic with others just like he'd gotten used to being with others. That's how things were on the Nemesis, wasn't it? Knock Out had been spending time plotting with Starscream and Breakdown had been in the vehicon rec rooms wrestling or telling stories.

The vehicons always listened to his stories with such enthusiasm. He really missed those guys.

But his partner had never understood that. So it was easy for Knock Out to jump ship and drag him along and never consider that it meant putting Breakdown up against his pals.

_...drag him along? Never consider?_

He winced and the rag stalled in place on one shoulder. After a moment, the doctor twisted around to look at him in questioning. Breakdown picked up the pace again, but his mind was stuck on that.

Since when did he think in terms like that towards the guy he owed so much to? Since when was he ungrateful to a mech that deserved so much praise?

"Are you alright?" Knock Out asked after he stalled again. The blue mech shook his head quickly to bring himself back to the moment.

"Oh. Yeah." His smile came a second late. The smaller mech didn't notice. But Breakdown didn't mind; he was smiling back. It was a dazzling smile. It had been ever since he'd worn it while standing over Motormaster's leaking body, one bloodied servo extending down towards him in offering.

"Well, then, as I was saying-"

Breakdown returned to listening. He wasn't supposed to bother much with thinking anyway.

* * *

Aboard the _Nemesis_, Soundwave took a step back from his console.

It was all that was needed to get the full attention of the bridge. Megatron moved to his TIC's side.

"Have you finished?" he asked. The spymaster lifted a single digit and left it in the air to point at the screen. There, the final entry was decoding.

But it did not form a set of coordinates. It formed the frame of that foolish new autobot rookie.

Down on the planet's surface, Optimus Prime took advantage of the quiet his base had devolved into once the others disappeared to their rooms or downstairs.

His own confusion at the final decoded database entry was masked just as well as the two stoic decepticon's confusion had been not long before.

* * *

"Let's talk about me, for a minute.  
I'm the one who's losing out."

_AN- Ironically, Knock Out has talked plenty about what he wants through the entire fic. He just doesn't remember/notice those moments._

_Title and lyrics in the summary and ending note come from the Alan Parson's Project song Let's Talk About Me. It was actually one of the few chapter names I knew before I had even committed to plotting this whole story out and writing it. I've always viewed the song differently than, say, its video, because to me the lyrics seem a little disconnected from reality. It doesn't seem to come from someone who truly has been forced to only hear about their partners problems, but rather someone who is impatient to get back to talking about themselves whenever a conversation goes to something unrelated to them. That made it all very relatable to this arc. Anyway, that's my trivia of the day for you about an obscure 80's song. Thank you for listening to my Ted Talk._  
_Originally, I had wanted to use the title and theme later in the plot (as in, during the S3 arc), but the character arcs took a slight deviation from my original plan so here it is early._


	48. We're Ready, How 'Bout You?

Megatron is losing his marbles, big surprise. The autobots discover where the last omega key is...but Knock Out already knew where it was, didn't he?

* * *

The new autobot? He was the remaining key? Or did he know its location?

Megatron growled.

There had to be some positive here. Yes, Optimus could destroy him and this very warship in battle now. Yes, his infernal enemy had access to three of the keys. But there must be something, some way to turn the tide of the war again.

He had to be the one to revive Cybertron. _He had to_. He was Cybertron's savior; he always had been. Its destroyer as well, but what point was there to saving and creation without destruction? Primus existed so Unicron could as well. Megatron just happened to play both of the god's roles. How amusing.

Oh, Optimus would be unamused to hear him think so. The Prime had gone all self-righteous on him in their last fight. Disgusting. It was disgusting that such a weakling could wield godly power while Megatron had to scrape for ways to keep up (_hadn't he always?_ the thought was shoved aside). He'd meant what he said; they should have both ascended, both wielded the power of the cosmos, both battled until one finally fell. It would have been legendary. And legends were never forgotten.

"Soundwave," he spoke up and drew the lanky mech's attention. Of course, he trusted that Soundwave's attention had always been on him. The rest could fail him, but the carrier could be trusted.

Regardless of recent slip ups. Although, if they were to continue...

Well, it would have been very typical; the mechs he trusted most were always the most likely to inevitably fail him.

Why else had he so quickly determined that Orion Pax would have to die? That deadly force would be required to make him finish the Iacon Database? Megatron knew what a delight it had been to hear the mech call him Megatronus and trust him so absolutely once again; but he also knew the inevitable. The upcoming failure, the eventual betrayal. He'd merely been prepared. No matter how delightful it had been to initiate Orion Pax into the decepticon fold, he'd known it would never last.

But Soundwave would not betray him in such a traditional sense. The mech had no purpose to living except to serve him. He was passionless and apathetic to life or death; as cybertronians with mutilated sparks often were. And Soundwave was missing five chunks of his spark, although he'd done a commendable job keeping the sixth alive. Really, Megatron ought to praise him for it one of these cycles; he knew how much the spymaster thrived on his commendations.

So no, if Soundwave were to fail him, as it seemed most inevitably likely to occur, it would not be a traditional betrayal. It merely would mean he was no longer doing his jobs, no longer being the perfect decepticon. Slip-ups and failures would amount to the only betrayal of trust the apathetic mech would commit.

"We need that mech. Have you pinpointed the location of the autobot base?"

There was a beat of silence. And then Soundwave shook his head once.

Megatron stood there and looked at the reaction. Then he thanked his TIC for his work and left the bridge.

Slip-ups and failures indeed.

* * *

The command to return to the main room summoned every autobot.

Arcee bridged in from the Darby's garage, which she had wheeled out to once the command reached her. She'd been laying on the floor once again; it seemed that the ruined carpet didn't matter so much as the feeling of protection both Darby's needed to fall asleep. Either that or June just didn't want Arcee touching her new government issue car. The two-wheeler was pretty sure the latter was not it.

Bulkhead drove to the base, since he knew it would not take him long and their energon reserves would appreciate the lack of groundbridging. He hadn't given Miko the heads up he was departing from the curb. The girl was already fast asleep, or should be. She would no doubt try to join him in whatever new mission Optimus had anyways and the mess with Airachnid had shown him that it was better she not be able to do so. Still, as much as he wanted to return to Cybertron, the wrecker could only hope this was not the last time he'd drive away from the girl's host parent's house.

Bumblebee hadn't been able to take Raf home after the human school was over earlier that day; he'd been busy helping secure one of the omega keys from Soundwave, after all. He hadn't been able to guard the curb by the Esquivel home either. Because of a pretty bad shot to the back, Ratchet had managed to trap the scout in the medbay until well beyond the young human boy's early bedtime. He sent an apology email to Raf and received reassurement in exchange. Bumblebee knew he'd miss such quick messages from his little friend.

Ratchet was already there. But despite being near Optimus already, his old friend had not shared whatever news that apparently warranted the rest of them to come. In their room, Breakdown was putting a buffer and other polishing tools away while Knock Out stretched. The job was only half done, but neither planned to ignore the Prime. Smokescreen was playing in the training room, making play pretend punches at an imaginary Megatron and then congratulating himself after every good 'hit'. When the message came, he felt relieved. Life was boring without spending it with other people.

Flying overhead, Wheeljack piloted the _Jackhammer_ towards the small desert base. He'd planned to leave after coming back with Bulkhead, but as per the norm he was getting dragged right back. Almost surprisingly, he didn't mind. He had a good feeling about the war lately. Maybe it would end and he'd settle down. No more fighting, much fun as it was. No more running from pain because no more cons to cause that pain. He was allowed to wish, wasn't he?

And agent Fowler returned his jet to the top of the old missile silo; he'd left after the three squadrons had returned with their relics, only to get the message that the last key had been located. Much as he wanted to sleep, he still felt like it was his duty to see the war off Earth. Escort it to the door and give it the boot, even if he'd miss its fighters.

* * *

"You called us?" Arcee spoke up first. Optimus nodded.

"I have decoded the final entry to the Iacon Database," he said gravely, before pointing at the screen. "However, the coordinates are odd. I will show you and we can discuss what it likely means."

A few moments later and the rest of the team realized why he had acted so confused.

The 'coordinates' were a picture. The picture was of a certain autobot. That certain autobot was currently staring at the screen and making a noise of surprised awe.

"Wait..." the femme frowned in confusion. "What is destiny's child doing up there?"

On the catwalk, Fowler snorted. "Is this some idea of a joke, Prime?"

Of course it wasn't. Optimus did not 'joke'.

"No, agent Fowler, it is not."

Bumblebee tried his input next._ "Is Smokescreen the key? Or does-"_ he turned to the still speechless rookie._ "-Smokey, do you know where the last key is?"_

The silver mech finally regained the ability to speak.

"No? I mean, I wish I did, but..."

Unnoticed by the others, Knock Out slid closer to the rookie. At the same time, Ratchet had moved towards the screen.

"Perhaps the key was hidden in the same escape pod as him," the old medic suggested. "Or maybe it is hidden somewhere in him or his subspace. I will conduct a full scan and plan an operation, in that cas-"

Any further planning was interrupted by the younger medic in the room.

A scan and operation would've taken too long, after all. So Knock Out decided to grab the phase shifter off Smokescreen's arm, ignoring the protesting "hey!" from the rookie, and then plunged his own servo into the silver mech's chest.

The rest of the base had gone shock still before they started making their own gestures.

"_Grosss_..." Bumblebee groaned. Smokescreen was ineffectually trying to hit the red mech.

But then Knock Out's arm retreated and it tugged along a rusty device with it.

The last omega key.

That was rather quick thinking. Almost oddly quick thinking.

Optimus narrowed his optics at the unfolding scene.

* * *

The decepticon bridge contained all of its highest ranking officers. None of them had answers or suggestions of any use. Starscream wanted to use the humans the autobots kept around as hostages to demand the rookie and the keys. The plan was cold-sparked, bringing younglings into danger, and would have likely worked. But Soundwave had not discovered the location of these human's homes yet.

Dreadwing remained mostly quiet, asking his Lord on occasion if they could not fight off the autobots and prevent them from leaving the planet. There was no concrete plan suggested in such words and so Soundwave ignored them.

Finally, Lord Megatron decided on their course of action. It was far from ideal, but it was all they had.

"If they have already taken all of these keys," Lord Megatron narrowed his optics dangerously, "-then we shall construct a barricade around this omega lock, wherever it may be.

His air commander's wings hiked. His formal 2IC frowned.

"How?" the big mech asked.

The answer was simple, or would have been if the bulky seeker was privy to the many decepticon constructs on and near this planet.

"Prepare my spacebridge," the warlord growled.

Behind him, Dreadwing startled. "We have a spacebridge, my liege?"

Their commander didn't turn to face him. Instead, the only reply the bulky seeker got was from his much smaller counterpart.

"You mean to say the loyal decepticon second-in-command does not even know of our two spacebridges we've built here?" came Starscream's predictable taunt.

_Three_, Soundwave noted. But the small seeker did not know of the third one yet. He had gone rogue before the second had finished its construction, let alone been attacked by autobots and thereafter dismantled.

The mocking served its purpose. Dreadwing bristled up and growled at his fellow 2IC.

"Silence!" came the roar of their leader.

Soundwave could have been smug at how easily he obeyed the command. He was always silent, after all.

The vow he took was rather easy to uphold. He'd never done much talking. And, while its remaining difficulty sufficed for a showing of his honor for the cause, he had chosen it because his leader did not want to hear him speak during the war. Perhaps when it was over, they could return to...but that was unimportant. What mattered was that Lord Megatron did not like to hear talk unless it came from himself. Soundwave would oblige. He would always oblige.

Doing so never gave his Lord what he needed, but it was all the spymaster could offer.

He was just as hollow a replacement as Starscream was for that young mech who'd visited the small Kaon apartment so often. Soundwave knew that. Starscream did not, but the former gladiator did. But the decepticons were hollow replacements for his lost symbiotes and this war was a pale patch for the emptiness around them all.

Such truths would not stop him from trying for his best.

His old companion deserved nothing less than utter loyalty.

* * *

The autobots did not have a way of reaching their planet. Fowler thought that meant the plan was doomed at this present time. Maybe he could get them supplies to build some sort of space ship or they could try to take down one of the decepticon 'spacebridges' again, but other than that?

Luckily, Ratchet had ideas. He was more enthusiastic than ever as he approached the problem. It seemed the promise of seeing his homeworld again made the cranky medic a little less cranky.

He tried to do some sort of engineering trick to the autobot groundbridge. Wheeljack helped, since apparently the loose canon had a decent knowledge of mechanics. More than once, Fowler caught Ratchet saying he wished Raf was there to help.

The experiment failed. The human had sighed and prepared to pitch his own ideas to them.

And then Prime had stepped up to the task.

Fowler didn't think he'd been more impressed than when he'd seen that fancy hammer go down on the alien technology. The action itself was nothing fancy, but the mere fact that something could do what basically qualified as 'magic' blew his mind. If only humans had toys like that, he couldn't help but think.

Then the whole team joined up by their new spacebridge.

They would go now, while they had the upper hand. It was logical. The kids, probably even June Darby, were going to skin him the next morning for letting them leave without saying goodbye.

Optimus Prime looked out over them all; Fowler included.

"We plan now to bring this war back to Cybertron; not, as we have in the past, to fight it- but to end it through restoring our homeworld." His optics landed once again on Fowler and then Ratchet, who would stay behind with the bridge controls. "But Earth will remain our home as well. It is with sorrow that we leave this second home behind; but with great hope that we look towards the future of both Earth and Cybertron."

A year ago and Fowler would've thought the big guy was just blowing exhaust. Now, he felt his own pride in this team swelling up. The agent threw a standard salute. "You're always welcome back here, big guy," he said. "All of you."

Even the loose canons of the bunch.

Prime nodded.

"Many thanks, agent Fowler."

Damn, he was even going to miss that specific way Prime always thanked him.

"Stay in touch," he replied. "I mean it."

And at that last sentence from their human contact, Prime gave the smallest of smiles.

Then he'd turned towards the bridge and ordered it powered up before anyone could notice the expression.

The team stood in front of their new and improved teleporter with weapons out. That sword was in its hilt on Prime's back. Bumblebee fastened the weird claw 'phase shifter' thing on his wrist. Smokescreen was tossing the weapon of mass destruction known as the spark extractor up and down. Knock Out spun the immobilizer. Bulkhead gripped the forge like it was always meant to be used as a battlehammer. Arcee stuck the gun they called a resonance blaster onto her own arm. Breakdown held the unactivated polarity gauntlet. Wheeljack clipped a grenade on his hips. They'd evidently ran out of fancy relics by the last one.

Ratchet pulled down the lever for the spacebridge and stepped back to shield Fowler from the gusts of air. This couldn't have been easy on the guy, since being left behind never was. But here he was smiling; he'd never seen the medic so happy.

The bridge roared; Arcee was right when she'd told Jack that spacebridges were more intense than their ground based alternates. Its noise tore through the small base. The only human present had his hands pressed against his ears. They remained there to block off noise, but he kept his eyes open despite the air pressure.

He would see this through.

Prime disappeared into the green. The four smallest bots followed. The last three took up the back of the party.

And then the aliens were gone, swallowed up into the flare of light.

Fowler wished them all luck.

* * *

_AN- The title is a slight reference to a different franchise. If you recognize it, kudos to you._


	49. Phantom Limbs

They'd said they'd always do whatever it took for their world.

_AN- All transmissions, as marked by «», occur in the past._

* * *

_«Your words were an unexpected surprise. They were bold, unfiltered, rivetingly hopeful. This, I believe, is the greatest set of qualities a mech of this time could own._

_I am thrilled to hear you say that the small influence I exert has changed so much for the better in you. While we have never met, I am sure you are every bit as brave as you proclaim you are not. For a high class in Iacon to view their own city without the same lens of idealistic blindness as your fellows is a rare gift of clarity indeed._

_I am just one mech. For this system to truly change, an armies worth of mechs are needed. One voice can be silenced by the council. The council can be silenced by the multitude._

_And such a change in power must occur for the cybertronian people to ever be free. The senate holds fuel and freedoms from its people; it holds their lives and will not let go without force. As terrifying as standing up can be, it is only the multitude that can break the council's hold. And a multitude requires directions, leaders; willing to resort to force, but primarily standing on words. Words can make or break a truth. They hold a special strength; one that the senate wishes could be silenced. You stated your job was monitoring planet wide transmissions? Then you are a silencer- but one who wishes to be free._

_I must believe that there are many who hold this same wish. I must believe there is a multitude waiting, in silence, in fear, ready to tear the old council down. Hope is all a slave can afford. How many cybertronians have not yet realized their own hope is all that keeps them from succumbing to the binds entrapping them?»_

_«message: received»_

_«Your passion is most motivating. I wish there were more willing to stand up like you. However, I must admit to being confused over your suggestion regarding the council. It does not seem clear to me what you were implying._

_Aside from that, I must admit as always to being entrapped by your words; they are 'rivetingly hopeful', as you called my own (a prose far more fitting to your own speeches than my simple messages)._

_Though I remain confused regarding the senate suggestions, I must also confess to the dread your words on the council brought me. They were true. The council is steeped in corruption. The world it offers its people is a golden tinted lie. But many council members do not wish for destruction or slavery. They are outnumbered, but willing to work towards a better world._

_Still, as I admitted last cycle, your bravery is inspiring. I can only hope it inspires more; many more. Enough for voices to be heard, no matter where they hail from or what their place in this sick caste is.»_

_«message: received»_

* * *

_«I can only hope you read this. A part of me worries you will see only my name attached to this message and ignore what lies within it._

_As reported last orn, I will be delayed to the outpost at Trypt. I know it seems to hardly matter if I show at all. But I will. You can count on me to arrive; though I detest violence and slaughter for any reason. I will because I must do my part for our people. You once inspired me to rise up for freedom, for the right to live and to live without restrictions or overseers- to fight for a planet we all deserve, for a world thats peace is true rather than a grand illusion-_

_I am still at Uari. I have been cleaning up after our mess ever since the militia moved on to Trypt._

_To call it a mess seems unfair to the horror we've left behind. I am not naive; you have seen to that. In so many ways, you have seen to that. This horror I stand beside as I record every loss of property, every loss of life- it is a horror meant to save our people. If it can, then it is worth it._

_We shared a dream once. Ratchet insists we no longer do._

_We shared a dream for Cybertron. For its people. Death and destruction was not the end goal. We wanted peace for every mech._

_Please, prove Ratchet wrong. Please, promise that this dream is still the goal; that this ruin I am surrounded with in Uari is not to spread to every home on Cybertron.»_

_«draft: unsent»_

* * *

_«My scouts have delivered a copy of a treatise designed by my high command to your borders. It was written to bring a standstill to the conflict of two of the warring factions on our torn world. Our factions. As Prime, I have supervised this treatise. It will be fair for all involved._

_This treatise would see a standstill for all combative factions. It would take much effort to undo the damage this young war has already done to our world, but the vitality of that effort cannot be understated._

_I appeal to you, not for myself but for this world. You once told me that this planet is what you will rise to fight for._ For, _Megatron. Not against. This war of ours has many losers and no victors; but among the primary innocents it works to destroy is this living planet itself._

_I cannot believe you wish so callously to drive Primus away from this planet's core. Accept the treatise. Meet with me. Cybertronians deserve a world, not a graveyard.»_

* * *

Cybertron was a graveyard.

It had been less than a vorn since Optimus had last stood here, but such a span of time was still significant. The last autobot to step onto this dead world was Arcee, who had come here with Jack just to find Vector Sigma. To find it for him.

Orion had been in awe that they had thought him worthy. Optimus felt that awe was too strong an emotion to allow. But his recent return from being Orion again had its consequences. The Matrix struggled to submerge old forgotten memories under the veil of leadership.

When he had been Orion, an Orion who did not remember the militia that devolved into brutal war anymore than he did the betrayal of his mentor, he had been shown a landscape. Megatron had shown it to the archivist in the hopes of riling his passion for his homeworld; a passion the warlord could then turn against Ratchet, who he had pinned the hopeless scene on.

A landscape of Cybertron as it was now.

Orion had been horrified. The destruction, the lifeless sky, the husk of a planet- it was a visceral nightmare. It was unthinkable. Borderline impossible to truly comprehend.

As a Prime, Optimus could look over the disturbing scene with grief at failing his planet. He had done so many times in the vorns as his dead world was still fought over.

But as someone so recently a mere archivist from before the war had even seemed possible...

When he had been shown the state of Cybertron while on the _Nemesis_, it had been far worse than Optimus Prime's slow exposure to a dying world. The war had stretched the destruction out, had made it feasible. A long, slow, drawn out death dealt by the servos of decepticons and autobots alike. Destroying Cybertron had never been either of their goals. He was sure of that. But the decepticons could not be allowed to win. Megatron's warmongering could not be allowed a hold on this or any other planet. It was better to fight for freedom than to accept slavery for peace. As much as Orion detested violence (as he had been so recently reminded while on the _Nemesis_), Optimus had no such qualms. The Matrix made it so.

He had been here leading troops only a millennia ago. He'd been accustomed to the grief.

He could not stop it now. Not so soon after being forced back to Orion Pax's naivety to the destructions of war.

Optimus looked out over the grave that was his homeworld.

"Autobots."

Without the aid of time and leadership to dull it, he could see with greater clarity than ever before exactly what his former comrade wrought on their world.

This death- this warmongering-

it could not continue.

Ratchet had been right. He had always been right. But Optimus did not believe he understood that more than he did while looking over the handiwork of a remorseless Megatron.

"We must travel to the Sea of Rust. It is likely we will encounter resistance."

There was no redemption for someone who could so callously destroy a world. No hope for one who would rebirth it only to have a planet created in their deluded image.

"We must bring the keys to the omega lock. We must not falter at the attacks the decepticons will no doubt throw at us."

He turned to look at his team. He looked at them so that they may hear his proclamation. Their faces, the memory of their expressions in this moment, would serve to hold him accountable.

He'd failed this planet by sparing his former comrade too many times. He would not fail again.

"Megatron must be stopped." Optimus clenched his fists. "No matter the cost."

_Big words._ He feared they would not ring true. No matter how horrified Orion's memories told him to be at the sight of this dead world, those same memories would falter in the face of killing his enemy. Perhaps his recent return to Orion had caused him to be more brutal in decision making- to be clouded from his usual hope and just as prone to vengeful thoughts as any mortal-

This time he would not falter. He had not in the cave. He had not in the desert. Only unexpected circumstances prevented him from striking the warlord down when he was unable to fight in both those instances.

One cycle, Megatron would not be so lucky. There would be no unexpected circumstances.

And the hopes left by a phantom mind clashed too heavily with the same mind's horror at the crimes the corrupt mech left behind for it to ever stall before the killing blow again.

"Autobots-" Optimus turned away from his team and looked over the dead expanse again.

_"Roll out."_

* * *

The barricade was the best that could have been constructed in such little time.

And it was far from enough.

Megatron looked over the dusty expanse of land. The infernal autobots could be arriving from any direction. No doubt they had found this 'lock's location just as Soundwave did.

Hmm. Soundwave. It would have seemed fitting to have the mech by his side now. To have his familiar presence waiting as the decepticon's faced their darkest hour. But Megatron never sent Soundwave into battle if the situation seemed perhaps more dangerous than the other ex-gladiator could handle. Granted, the carrier could handle almost any combat scenario.

But not this new weapon Optimus flaunted.

It would not do to have them both die.

His fists ground together. Oh, but he had no plans to die just yet. He had no plans to ever die. The dead were too easily forgotten.

_When_ he killed Optimus (and it was a _when_, not an _if_), he would give his opponent the slightest honor he would offer such a legendary struggle as their own. He would make sure history remembered the last of the Primes. And, more importantly, their final destroyer.

The conviction felt more hollow than usual. The dust looked threatening.

The helplessness of this turn in power made him nearly ill. It would not do. He needed a way to turn this war again. He had to.

* * *

On board the _Nemesis_, still hovering over Earth, Dreadwing moved down the halls towards the bridge. He was to assume control of the ship. Much as he was loath to admit it, he did not know how to control this ship and its armies. But he would need to do his best; his master awaited reinforcements on Cybertron. Dreadwing knew he needed to be ready to be called there. After all, Starscream and his armada were already waiting on the flight deck to be sent to the dead planet. It was only the _Nemesis_ that had been told to wait back.

There was noise coming from the room he was nearing. The seeker moved to its doorway and looked in.

The medbay was not empty, although there were no patients. XL-2M99 was sitting at his desk. A different vehicon was making extravagant movements (perhaps some sort of dance? Not one of his era, then. This madness in front of him was far from that art) while the medic shook his head. Both voices carried out of the open doorway. Both sounded happy.

Dreadwing felt himself smile. Then the seeker walked on. He had come to bid farewell; nothing about this mission seemed hopeful on their parts. And he would never again do as he had with his twin; he would not fail to find closure in adieus.

But there was a peace at play that he felt he never brought to the vehicons of the army. His arrival dragged along war and servitude. His absence allowed lively chatting and energetic happiness, at least on the flyer's part (the interim medic had never seemed energetic).

He should not intrude and bring the failures and sobriety of late behind him.

The decepticon 2IC returned to the bridge and organized the squadrons filtering through the spacebridge to aid their master in building a suitable barricade.

But each new list that he passed on, he recorded in his own memory banks. These were soldiers likely heading to their death. Such was war. As the officer in charge of their lives, he would do each one the honor of being remembered.

Some designations he recognized.

Perhaps, Dreadwing considered as his unease grew, he had let himself become too invested with the lives of his mechs. The other officers (with the possible exception of Soundwave, though it was impossible for him to tell) did not concern themselves with the designations of disposables. Not even the _named_, the officers, the loyal-

He shook his head. It was not the time to think of Skyquake. Nor was it his place to think so bitterly of his lord.

* * *

The dust storm blew over the flatlands of the Sea of Rust. Vehicons prowled atop the high walls of the omega lock or waited with weapons hot by the shorter walls of a makeshift barricade.

Peeking up through the ground, the autobot scout took a good long _scouting_ look around. And then grinned under his mask when the first con noticed him.

Bumblebee moved up from the ground, feeling the trippy effects of the phase shifter even as he shot upwards at the vehicons above. Then he was running back and the cons were left to wait and see exactly which direction 'back' was.

And then far more pressing matters arrived.

A heap of rubble coated in orange was thrown through the air. The blue beam of the immobilizer lanced around.

Jets tore into the dusty air. Some were hit with the immobilizer. Some crashed down to the ground when met with deadly levels of soundwaves. Arcee ran, pointing the resonance blaster upwards and taking down as many of the airborne vehicons as got in range.

Those vehicons incapable of flight poured forth from the bottom of the barricade wall. They amassed forward in greater number than the autobots against them. Numbers had always been the one advantage they held above their enemies.

A grenade landed amongst the army and tore through those nearby its explosion. The resonance blaster switched from airborne targets to those on the ground. Knock Out stayed near the back and let the beam of the immobilizer slide between flightmodes and grounders indiscriminately. His goal was merely to keep the thing in one piece this time.

Some of the groundbased troops met the crash of a hammer. Bulkhead let the forge dip down once the devastating swing was completed.

"Eh." Breakdown tossed another chunk of metal up, distractedly glancing at his nearby rival. "Guess yours _is_ bigger."

The wrecker laughed.

Smokescreen had waited until Bumblebee returned from his first run. As they'd already planned, the scout unfastened the phase shifter and handed it off to the rookie. Then the elite guardsmech was slipping through the ground and racing for where the bulk of the con army was on the ground.

Not long after, that segment of enemies dropped from identical deaths. The spark extractor lay alone on the ground amidst the corpses.

Then, making his way from the back of the team to the front, Optimus Prime became visible in the dust. In one servo was the star saber. The sword lifted and then its energy tore through the air. The dust swirling in the wind shot away from the carving slice. The metal of the barricade separated just as the dust had.

With a roar of anger, Megatron leapt from his collapsing wall and entered the air. His cybertronian altmode flew faster than the Prime dared to swing such a dangerous weapon. Joining the warlord, more vehicon seekers took to the air; mainly to escape their failing barricade, it seemed.

And then, high above the omega lock, a space bridge opened. They could have brought their warship through; could have used its weaponry to melt the omega lock down. But the decepticons wished to restore Cybertron just as the autobots did. Instead of the warship, it was more seekers that came through; their weapon fire tore down towards the autobots.

Against a singular airborne mech, the star saber hardly seemed accurate enough. Against a crowd...

More rubble was thrown; that, or mechs were magnetized together and fell crashing to the ground. The immobilizer took down a suitable amount of enemies. The resonance blaster was traded for the femme's typical guns until an unlucky con flew into the range of the relic. The wreckers continued to tear through the decepticons that remained on the ground; a certain rookie joining them in the close combat fighting.

The autobots had made their way to the ramp of the omega lock. The decepticon numbers had dropped.

But it was only when they stood upon the lock itself, Optimus sending another tearing cut through more of the armada, that it seemed to be enough. The battle had been won long before. It was pride and desperation that had kept the fight going.

With one final garbled roar from their leader, the decepticons retreated.

And Team Prime was left atop the omega lock with all its keys at their disposal.

They could revive their world.

Where he stood among them, Knock Out felt a thrill of excitement and deja vu. This time, there would be no interruption. This time, it wouldn't be him standing with the cons feeling the high of seeing a planet resurrected and then the despair of seeing the lock destroyed.

This time would be different.

Surely, it would.

* * *

_«If this world should devolve into conflict- if this energon crisis cannot resolve peacefully- then it is up to the citizen to rise up. It is our energon that they are hoarding; our life that they keep from us. I know you do not like to hear of conflict- but listen. Should conflict become inevitable, remember what it is we will stand to fight for. The energon we deserve. The freedoms we deserve. The planet we deserve.»_


	50. Regeneration

He still remembered the colony world.

Velocitron was a planet not far from Cybertron itself. It had been mostly metallic; a heated core and some ice buried in canyons or on the polar caps had been the only aspects of the rock that would have appealed to organic settlers. As it was, the rocky world was small, nearby, and had a moon rich in rare metals. Cybertronians had found it a very appealing system as they dared to venture out beyond their own planet.

The colony had been built quickly. Many of the nearby planets had been colonized quickly in that young era.

Then the Age of Wrath had begun; their curious spread to the other stars had drawn in the attention of the quintessons. Perhaps it was their young drive to the stars that had attracted the warfaring race to them. Perhaps the quintessons had always been keeping a close watch on their species, waiting for them to truly be advanced enough to be useful slaves.

Whatever the case, the quintesson occupation had been slightly less stifling on the colony worlds. Knock Out had been requested by his carriers sometime during the Age of Wrath and his young spark was smuggled back from the Allspark to Velocitron.

He'd always known the world far more than he had known the living planet he'd been sparked on. The oppressors had a far lighter hold out there compared to the mainworld. And the colony world had only grown brighter when the war had driven the quintessons off. He had been outfitted as a racer, like almost every other velocitronian. At four vorns of age, he had joined a medical school on the colony planet. Occasionally, he visited the mainworld. Cybertron was interesting, to say the least. Its cities were larger and yet it had more empty land than his planet. Velocitron, after all, was a smaller planet. It was entirely covered in the main city, broken into subparts; quite unlike the divided states and empty mining land of Cybertron.

The planet had a clear sky. When he'd come to live here much later, it had lost that sky. The air was thick with smoke. But that was after the war. That was after Velocitron had fallen.

He had ignored all the news of the budding war on Cybertron. He had tuned out every new addition to the saga of civil war. Even when the first senator was killed. The second. The mass execution that killed four others. The official declaration of war between the two largest factions on an angry world.

It didn't register that it really related to him. Knock Out was a student on his way towards graduation in a few more stellar cycles. He had lost many friends because of stupidity on everyone's part, but certainly not because of a _war_. Every three cycles, he would go to the circuit he visited since his days as a youngling and win the races he participated in. Almost every other cycle and he'd be cornered by an acquaintance who wanted to be modded for speed and streamlined attractiveness. Life was the same as it always was, no matter what colorful broadcasts came on the news or prevented vacations to the mainworld.

Then he'd been caught in the explosion that rent his medical school apart. All he'd physically lost was a leg. All he'd mentally and emotionally lost was his entire life's schedule and...well, _life_. It was irreversibly changed.

He remembered that explosion. It had been a bomb; not from the sky like those tearing Praxus or Vos apart were, but one carried into the center of the institute. And it was far from the last bomb smuggled onto Velocitron.

The planet of Velocitron was famous for its speed. But none of the velocitronians were fast enough to escape the war when it arrived. They either picked a side or died in the middle.

And the colony world was smaller than Cybertron. It took far less time to completely fall into destruction.

Knock Out, by that time, had already joined the decepticons. He took one look at the ruins of his planet outside the shuttle his squadron was using to leave Velocitron and then turned away from the sight. It was the opposite of the colorful place his old home was. It was nothing. A pitiful excuse for what venusian paradise it had been before. He would not look back to it. He would not accept how it tore himself apart to see _everything_ just _gone_.

His new permanent vacation on the mainworld wasn't all that bad. There were many opportunities to practice operations and fight with new weapons until he found the staff that suited him so well. There were thrilling riots and hundreds of free mechs to mess around with. If Cybertron started looking more and more like the desolate surface of his colony, he didn't focus on that.

Then came the cycle he ran into another decepticon prowling towards the latest rally. The mech was spindly, but as a speedster who hailed from a planet that trimmed its mechs down to slim forms, Knock Out didn't automatically find the rangy look automatically distasteful. The other con was a dark, lush red, polished to perfection like he himself was. While the medic tended to appreciate mechs with a larger, more commanding presence, he had to admit that this faceless decepticon was starkly attractive. Frankly, it wasn't fair. At least the rouge and shine left later in that vorn to be traded out by a disgustingly unappealing green paintjob. But that was later. At that moment, he had merely followed the stranger all the way to the rally and watched him with unconcealed envy.

The other was joining a group of three. Taller than the others was a bland looking gray fighter outfitted with some truly wicked looking missiles. Hopping around impatiently, a different speedster looked everywhere and nowhere at all. His hyperactivity was nothing interesting, so Knock Out moved his stare to the third.

This mech was small, though not spindly like the red stranger was. He was blue and tan, which...wasn't too bad a combination. He was too diminutive to really look threatening. Probably was canon fodder for the cons. Knock Out only avoided that fate by being a capable surgeon. Still, the blue mech was in a unit and that was more protection than the medic had at that time.

The crowd had listened to the rally with vivor. Knock Out found himself casting his glance between the charismatic warlord on top of the stage of corpses and the strangers he'd been spying on earlier. They'd been joined by a truly hulking mech with an uncanny resemblance to the model of the current autobot Prime. This purple giant stood over the other four smaller mechs and Knock Out noticed their previous energy was gone. The red mech had his glowing blank visor looking directly at the stage. The heavy weapons mech had arms crossed while he listened. The smaller gray mech had his head completely covered by the large purple mech's servo; it seemed it was there to keep the hyperactive mech still by force. And the blue mech was slouched in the shadow of what had to be his commander, but his yellow gaze was still drawn upwards towards Lord Megatron's speech. No matter how he was cowering in his commander's presence, he was still obviously inspired by the words of the warlord.

Frankly, Knock Out didn't care all that much for them. They were impressive, yeah, and terrifying, but they weren't focused on him so he saw no reason to focus on the words.

Not when he was busy looking at this squadron of strangers.

Apart, the smaller members would've been good only for cannon fodder. Together, they were obviously a unit. One that had survived this long. One that could survive longer.

Knock Out determined to speak to an officer when the rally was complete. After all, he needed to have a unit too. He would be impeccably valuable to a squadron since he could keep them alive from some of the worst of injuries. And they? They would protect him too.

It was a bit of a bitter memory in hindsight. But so was anything involving Velocitron. And dead worlds.

So when the time had come that Cybertron actually went from its dead state to living? Knock Out hadn't figured out what to feel. There was a slight disconnect with the omega lock firing at that building. But it was slight, all things considered.

He was there when the decepticons had used the keys to activate the lock. He was there when the lock began to revive the planet.

The rest of the high command from the warship were there as well. Starscream was showering Megatron in compliments and glee- offering Knock Out a smile that for once didn't look backstabbing or scheming. Megatron was busy taunting Optimus Prime, but the medic felt sure he was happy too. Primus, even Soundwave looked happy and that mech never looked like anything. The TIC shook with constrained, inaudible laughter; either at the autobots misfortune or in unfiltered relief at seeing Cybertron's reawakening. He couldn't really speak for the speechless mech.

Besides, it didn't matter. All that mattered was his own glee at this. Part of that came because of how entertaining it was to see the autobots being so miserable. Most of that came from the thrill of seeing a planet come back to life. Sure, they'd only used it on one building so far. But that building shone like it had in the Golden Age. It was repaired. The whole planet could be.

Knock Out wondered if the lock could be used to that same effect on his old colony.

He wondered if it could be used on the dead.

But such brief questions went nowhere. Optimus Prime had stepped in and destroyed it the moment it was turned on his precious Earth.

The means of restoring this planet- any planet- gone.

Some Prime Optimus was. Weren't they supposed to do the best thing for their world? This was sacrificing it! This was even more unbelievable than watching a destroyed pile of rubble regenerate.

Everyone seemed to be undergoing the thralls of disbelief. The autobots were looking shocked or speaking in panic to their Prime. To the mech who had killed Cybertron once more. The rest of the high command looked little better. Starscream was screaming bloody murder. Megatron was furious and when he was furious then heads would be rolling soon. Soundwave was frozen in still apathy.

And he?

He was spinning. Thinking about the lock. What it had done. What it could have done, perhaps. The planet of ruins he'd long ago left behind. The world that lay as dead as this, as dead as so many, as dead as Earth would have been for its inhabitants if they could've finished cyberforming it. All those too dead to be here in such a grande moment. All those too dead to have seen Knock Out play one fourth of the role in activating the thing that would save their planet.

The confusion buried itself under helpless rage, just as was for the others.

It was better to rage than to wonder what more could have been regenerated if not for the devastating meddling of Optimus Prime.

* * *

In such a momentous occasion like this was, Knock Out really should've been able to handle himself with more maturity.

Sadly, Smokescreen just happened to rub him the wrong way.

It started a few moments before. The team had looked at the mechanism below the shadow of the omega lock and each teammate took their key out of subspace. At one lock, Arcee walked calmly. To another went Bumblebee and the scout was somber in the seriousness of the moment. He looked less like a kid and far more like the confident leader he had so briefly become in the wake of the whole zombie predacons incident. The third lock fell into the shadow of Bulkhead as the wrecker prepared to insert his key.

So it all came down to waiting for the fourth. But said fourth decided that was the time to get insecure about doing the task.

"Optimus, an honor like this...I don't-"

And that was what had ended up triggering this stupid new turn of events. Knock Out knew it was stupid, at least, but he still had gotten into the brief teasing argument with the rookie. It seemed Smokescreen didn't feel like he deserved this job up until someone like him volunteered to take over- then, the rookie 100% wanted to do it.

Their embarrassing moment ended up with the both of them standing by the fourth lock; two separate servos on the end of the narrow key ready to push it in together.

What? He'd been ready to join the others standing back and watching, but Smokescreen's sudden offer to pass the job on was enticing; who else could say they'd activated (or played a part in activating) Cybertron twice in two separate timelines?

But despite their break in sobriety, the team had gone quiet once more. Optimus was watching, looking over the dust of the Sea of Rust with hope that practically buzzed around his field.

High above them all, the omega lock began to activate. Cybermatter entered the air, held in place among the constraints of the circular lock. The wasteland washed in its teal glow.

The omega lock had multiple 'barrels' to 'shoot' from. The Prime moved from where he had been looking over Cybertron and the cybermatter above to approach the controls. Somehow, by chance he supposed, Optimus chose the one pointing towards the rubble remains of a building- the very one that the decepticons had repaired in Knock Out's last life.

This time, it was the autobots that restored that pile of rubble to a pristine building once again. Something straight out of the Golden Age. Or even straight out the new Cybertron that rose after Optimus's death and the disbanding of the decepticons.

Neither analogies were pleasant, as neither pristine world had truly been what it appeared to be.

Still, it was awesome to see. Even Breakdown, when Knock Out cast a glance over at his partner, had his mouth open in silent wonder. It was unnatural to see him silent and surprised, but no one could blame the big guy. Not in the face of this.

"We...we did it." Arcee stepped away from her key, which stayed where it was. Her optics were wide.

Now would be the time to make some wise-crack about her doubting. The wise crack didn't come.

Huh. Apparently he was surprised as well.

No matter how the team had grown and people had been kept alive and overall everything seemed to be going great-

He'd still expected something to go wrong.

This was a far more pleasant surprise than those expectations.

Optimus nodded at her words, then directed his attention back to the controls. His brows had crawled together in thought. A moment later and the Prime had triggered the cybermatter to the buildings near the newly reborn one. The stream of energy fell from those ruins to the very ground.

It lit when the cybermatter was focused on it. The dust blew away and the metal eased back from its cracks and rust to a smooth surface. But the light faded from the ground as soon as the lock stopped firing.

Far better than before, but not Cybertron. Cybertron had a living ground. Its energy seeped up from a living core. This new shiny ground Optimus had directed the lock to make was not Cybertron's ground.

"As it is now, we can only regenerate what is in range. Fully resurrecting Cybertron would likely mean firing this cybermatter directly into the planet's core. It seems we will require a method of transportation for the omega lock," Optimus came to his conclusion at the sight of the still dead ground.

"As in...a ship?" Bulkhead asked slowly. "With a crane or something?"

Arcee scoffed. "We don't have any ship big enough to carry this thing on. Maybe the decepticon warship could do it, but any of ours?"

Considering the fact that they only had the _Jackhammer_...She was right.

Optimus gave a nod.

"You are both correct."

The group went quiet. It was Smokescreen who piped up next. "Then...what do we do now? Fix everything we got in range? Build ourselves a sick warship? ...can it do that?"

Well, the lock had built Darkmount II on Earth. It seemed well in its ability to not just regenerate old construction, but build what its operator desired from pure cybermatter.

"It is unlikely that the omega lock has infinite resources," Optimus replied. "We must be wise in utilizing it."

That realistic, though disappointing, statement had the group go quiet again.

"What's our next move then?" Arcee asked. She was so quick to the point. Really, it was admirable.

The Prime looked over his team solemnly.

"Until we find the means to transport the lock, we will protect it. This is the key to the revival of our planet. We cannot allow it to fall into decepticon reach."

And Knock Out knew how serious he was.

He, out of all of them, knew that Optimus would be fully willing to destroy the lock if Megatron so much as pointed it at Earth.

"In the meantime, we can use it to regenerate those constructions within reach. And, loathe as I am to use it for the purposes of war so soon, we should construct a fortification that would allow us to protect this tool of the ancients."

Knock Out and Smokescreen exchanged glances. The rookie shrugged. "New base, I guess. Cool."

And as attached as he was getting to Autobot Outpost Omega One, the medic had to agree.

Perhaps setting up a base of operations on the planetside would let the bots keep the advantage this time around.

* * *

At a suitable distance from their enemies, the decepticons stood and watched.

The omega lock was only a small speck at this distance and yet they could still see it glow as it reconstructed cybertronian architecture.

Megatron was beyond furious. His fury was nearing despondency.

Another burst of light. Another new golden dome.

They could do nothing about it.

He could not tear his gaze away from the horrid sight of failure. Not to look at the soldiers behind or besides him, waiting with absolutely subdued purposelessness. Not at his officers, or the two that were with him.

The spirits of his army had never been lower.

"Lord Megatron..."

That was Dreadwing. His 2IC. Bridged in from the _Nemesis; s_tanding near his side, but still quite distant.

"What should we do?"

Maybe the seeker should figure it out. Maybe the seeker should do something instead of being so damned useless while Optimus Prime became the savior of this planet.

Megatron growled. His vision was blurred. Soundwave was not here to reign him in. Perhaps he should be. But Soundwave was also not here to watch Megatron's failure- he'd never let down the carrier before.

In fact, he had sworn never to do so. Soundwave swore his voice away and Megatron swore away the room to fail the other.

Another voice entered the silence that Dreadwing's question had left.

"Yes, my lord, what should we do? How are you to turn this into a magnificent victory for the decepticons?"

And _that_ was Starscream. The air commander was an even wiser distance from the warlord than the 2IC was.

So when Megatron's growl rose and he spun to tear into the aggravators, neither officer was near his reach. A vehicon standing among the other drones became their proxy, then. He threw the soldier aside after delivering the blow he wished could have landed on either seeker. On Optimus and his autobots. On everyone who had failed him recently and so significantly. His frustration had needed an outlet and his loyal decepticons should always be willing to provide that to him.

Dreadwing took a slight step back from the violence. Starscream's wings drooped.

And Megatron would have stormed their way to yell at them both for interrupting his train of hopeless thought had a single noise not interrupted him.

Tank treads. Moving over rubble and growing louder as it approached.

The fury sank away into tranquility. The despondency at having no hope at all left against the Prime followed his rage.

The warlord lost his outward aggression and started to shake with laughter. It bubbled out without permission and he could not find it in himself to care.

Oh, this was amusing timing. Magnificent, wonderful, amusing timing.

The rest of his army here on Cybertron did not seem to understand yet. Oh, but they would. Megatron cast a level glare on Starscream while he chuckled. It seemed to unsettle the small seeker more than his earlier show of force. Ah. So he did not yet realize what was approaching? _Who_ was approaching? If Starscream had realized that, his reaction would be far more ready to offer excuses than his uneasy confusion.

And Megatron was very interested in hearing what they may be. After all, it had been the seeker who had given him the news personally that his top scientist had perished.

Through the dust, the tank appeared. Its purple frame rolled over the uneven rubble until it had reached the edge of the decepticon crowd.

Megatron gave one more smirk to Starscream, who's optics had gone wide and face was sneering in disbelief. "You live?" Starscream shoved forward in order to reach his leader's side, spluttering all the while. "B-bu-but you were offline!

The silver mech ignored the sputtering.

"Shockwave!" the warlord walked past the others towards the mech and spread both arms wide. "Just the tactical advantage I need right now."

The tank compressed and expanded until it was the hulking cyclops. The scientist inclined in a bow.

"Lord Megatron-" was all he said in return.

Another loyal mech to add to his ranks. But this one...

This one was a mastermind. A genius. His scientific expertise would no doubt have crafted all kinds of monstrosities since the last time they had seen each other.

And that kind of surprise was exactly what he needed against the autobots now.

"This is quite an unexpected turn," Megatron grinned, letting dangerous dentae flash for all those around to see and fear. "I thought you'd perished here on Cybertron."

Shockwave looked past him to stare at-

Ah. As he'd suspected. Starscream.

"No matter," the warlord continued before the scientist could speak. "We will have much time to discuss that miscommunication later. First, we have a matter of great importance to attend to- I assume you have a lab nearby?"

The scientist caught the change in conversation easily.

"It is several clicks distance. I can lead you there," Shockwave answered in his characteristic monotone.

Megatron's grin grew.

"_Perfect_," he hummed before turning to look over what remained of his barricade troops and armada reinforcements.

And it _was_ perfect. If anyone could turn the tide of the war, it would be Shockwave's own curiosity towards the destructive.

They began to move. Megatron and Shockwave took the lead, the scientist beginning his explanation on the demise that apparently had been reported 'prematurely'. Starscream trailed them both, acting as though he'd interrupt but failing to do so. The vehicons marched unassumingly behind those three.

The last of the officers remained behind, all but forgotten as he stood alone on the plateau overlooking the Sea of Rust.

So Dreadwing took up the rear of the army, crouching beside a bleeding XL-3T09 and scooping the vehicon his master had tossed aside into his arms.

* * *

On the planet Earth, interconnected with Cybertron in ways so few knew of, the autobot Ratchet heard the news. He listened to the message from Optimus, telling him that the omega lock had been secured and merely needed a way to be transported above the planet. He heard them telling him, the sole remaining autobot on Earth, that they had already started constructing on and regenerating the surrounding area.

And when the message was over, he found the berth in the medbay and sat down.

This was the most ecstatic he'd felt for vorns.


	51. Airachnid Calls In A Favor

Airachnid feels left out now that everyone has left for Cybertron. Optimus and Ratchet have a long distance chat. Dreadwing tries to offer advice and get cold shouldered- but not in the way he was expecting. Jack discovers the hard way that he has no ride to work.

_AN- The mandatory Airachnid-is-a-creeper warning goes for this chapter. Dreadwing's section happens directly following last chapter. The rest are a few hours/days later. The guest character of this chapter is taking the majority of his characterization/appearance from Animated rather than bayverse._

* * *

_«-a recent surge of energy from-»_

_«-noticed by the populace of Suini, there seems to be a spike in-»_

Hmm. Intriguing, but not enough.

Now, all these long forgotten channels that were acting up? That was far more interesting than some surge of power from Cybertron.

One channel flipped on the modified decepticon transmission box. It had been salvaged from her ship's remains and worked like a charm.

_«-can only wonder what this means for us. Is Primus returning? Is this an omen that the old war really is over? I know none of us believed that easily, when it seems like any time we run across another cybertronian it ends in a figh-»_

Boring. Next. She cast her attention to a separate decepticon comm line sitting under a terminal opposite her official transmission box.

_«-backup on the planetside. Any enlisted officer is welcome. A mounted operation must be prepared. All sensitive information will be disclosed in person by your high command themselves. Again, this is decepticon communique XL-1H11, ordering any and all available decepticons to Cybertron's surface-»_

Oh, that was far more interesting. And what an outdated channel as well! That particular frequency hadn't found its way across the cosmos since the war actually was engaging enough to matter to anyone.

And those beacons were old as well! Soundwave was no doubt responsible for their resurrection. Oh, well. She could hardly blame them. Good beacons were few and far between. Most had already been tapped into by autobots or neutrals.

Speaking of those...

The next transmission she let steal her focus was sent over an autobot channel.

_«-of the elite guard. If any of you have a large ship, do you think you could bring it over to Cybertron? We kinda need a big ship capable of heavy lifting. If any autobots hear this and happen to have-»_

That was a bit enigmatic. She wondered what the autobots would need a warship for.

And why they were on Cybertron.

Her scouts found nothing more. It really did seem that the place had become free of autobot, and their opposing decepticon, presence.

That opened up the opportunity to take the planet.

But she was nursing wounds and hurt feelings from a few special mechs. They couldn't just disappear to Cybertron and leave her like this: unable to get her revenge on mechs many solar systems away.

The many transmissions continued to buzz around the room. A few terminals sounded like static or gave other useless messages from or about Cybertron.

It had been vorns since she'd bothered with the place. There were no close feelings attached. Wandering the expanse of space on hunts had been far more entertaining than anything Cybertron could offer.

But maybe the lack of exposure to those of her kind (or far preferable than her true kind) had made them a bit more appealing. Certainly, Arcee was as delightful as she remembered the two-wheeler to be in their first meeting.

Humankind was fascinating.

But her homeworld was calling.

Literally calling; decepticon beacons and autobot requests and all those neutrals around the galaxies questioning why there was energy coming from the dead planet.

Who was she to ignore their pleas for company?

The femme leaned back on her makeshift throne and enjoyed the buzz of transmissions around her. Across her own commline, Airachnid found a familiar contact and sent out a ping.

_«You in the area, Lockdown? I want a favor.»_

* * *

Something was very wrong.

The living room was empty. Jack had stopped dead in the kitchen as he moved to pour a bowl of cereal for himself and his mom and stared at the darkened carpet where Arcee had been laying just last night.

A moment later and he'd rushed to the garage door.

Also empty.

Maybe she was busy. Got called away on a mission. That happened. Life happened.

The reassuring thoughts did nothing to stop the way his heart was hammering away.

This was stupid of him. He wasn't supposed to be so panicky.

But it had been too soon that his mom had gotten abducted and he'd ran around a battlefield trying to get her to safety after watching her fall from Airachnid's hands into the deadly drop of air-

Jack forced himself to take deep breaths and then got his phone out. He was a mature teen who was almost an adult and had literally been to another planet. He could deal with a little surprise in the morning.

The phone stopped after the third ring. A familiar grumble answered impatiently.

_«Yes?»_

Not the voice Jack really wanted to hear. He was still upset with Ratchet.

"Hey," the teen swallowed back any of that ire and asked what he had called to ask. "Is Arcee there? She's not at my place and I've got to go to work in half an hour."

There was a pause. Jack did not like that pause.

_«She's busy»_ Ratchet finally answered. _«...you're probably going to need to get a new ride to work and school. She's going to be busy for a while.»_

The sinking feeling he'd gotten in the pause only grew.

"Ratch. What is it you're not telling me?"

There was no answer. Jack got the feeling that the medic did not want to be the one explaining whatever it was being hidden.

Finally, the autobot replied. The voice was even more subdued this time. _«Is your mother awake? I'd rather tell you both at once.»_

* * *

The vehicon in his arms was still alive. Dreadwing could see his spark shining; he could truly see it. Megatron's blow had torn half the drone's chest off and the other portion was pinched into itself.

It reminded him of the vehicons in M.E.C.H.'s lab. Their sparks had been visible to him as well. He'd seen them gutter out into darkness.

The grip on the flyer tightened, though he made sure it was not painful.

"Stay with me," the seeker said down to the unfortunate vehicon his commander had chosen to harm.

There wasn't any vocal response that amounted to words. A few short noises, yes, but not a sentence to reply to his own phrase.

How unlike this mech. The few other times Dreadwing had seen him, he'd been quite vocal. Recently, when he'd arrived at the officer's room to escort him to the medbay. Or, even more recently, when he'd been chatting freely in that very medbay before Dreadwing had departed from where he was watching the two drones and seen the flyer's designation on the list of reinforcements he had to send out.

Still, the vehicon was making slight movements in his hold and the spark had yet to fade away.

This time, he made no promise to keep him alive, to return him to his waiting brother; he'd sworn too much for all those stolen by M.E.C.H.

Somehow, that did not make it easier.

The seeker looked up from the injured to gaze at the ever increasing distance between the army and himself. He had no desire to catch up. He did not want to go to Shockwave's laboratory. He wanted to bring the damaged drone back to the _Nemesis_ for repairs.

_«Lord Megatron»_ he sent a hesitant comm._ «I...request permission to return to the Nemesis.»_

It took a few moments for his lord to answer.

_«You would leave already? That is hardly exemplary modeling from my first lieutenant.»_

Dreadwing couldn't hold back the wince at the evident sneer in his master's voice.

_«No, my liege-...I merely believe that the warship must be made aware of the changes in our circumstances. I wish to return to the bridge to brief Soundwave and your army on what has occurred, and direct your current course of action. I believe it would be prudent to bring the Nemesis through to Cybertron.»_

Not true. He merely wished to return so that he could save this vehicon's life. He had failed to bring any of XL-2M99's brothers back to him from the humans, but he would return the flyer to the medic. This time, he would not fail.

_«That is a far better motive for my second in command» _Megatron's reply sounded amused_. «Very well. Starscream will attend to your duties here until you return to my side.»_

And for a sickening moment, Dreadwing wanted to sneer himself. There was no need for him to be at the warlord's side. He was ignored and fully aware of how little he contributed.

In the recent past, it was the latter that hurt him most.

Now it was the former that caused a bitter disgust to rise within him.

The space bridge was activated near his coordinates and Dreadwing walked to it. He lingered only shortly at its base to look at the army that had forgotten his presence. But it was the army that had ignored the severe injuries dealt to a helpless soldier. Such behavior had no honor; not for any of the servants in this army, nor its master.

Then he stepped into the vortex and arrived on the bridge of the warship.

Soundwave was waiting for him.

"I will return briefly," Dreadwing stated. As he'd expected, the other gave him no reply. But his visor stared at his back the entire walk to the doorway of the bridge. He tried to contain how that made his plating crawl; how it felt as though the voiceless mech was speaking into his mind.

_Treason. Traitor. You serve only one master. Why do you leave him now?_

He tried his hardest to ignore the words. They did not come from Soundwave.

They came from himself.

There was far less movement from the mech in his arms. When he looked down, Dreadwing still could see the pale glow of a spark. Was it his imagination or was it paler than before...? His pace for the medbay became more brisk.

And there-

The door was open. He had not seen it closed or locked since the cycle XL-2M99 returned from his fateful venture to the mine where M.E.C.H. was operating.

Dreadwing strode in and the vehicon at his desk turned to face his visitor. And then shot up to his pedes.

By the time the seeker had lain the injured out on the berth, their medic made his first jolting movements forward.

He waited near the door as though suspecting he could be of use. What use, he was not sure. This was far from his expertise.

As he was still observing, he took note of the operation to stabilize the patient.

It was not going well.

XL-2M99's digits shook and drew back before ever managing to go into the damaged internals of his bro-his friend. The drone stopped midway through a procedure so that he could hook the patient into monitors and disable pain receptors; he'd forgotten to do it first.

It reminded Dreadwing of how he had spoken nearly two orns ago, of when he had proclaimed that he did not believe at first that XL-2M99 would be a satisfactory medic without training.

This was an example of his own words accuracy and yet he felt no joy in being right.

Taking a few steps away from the doorway, Dreadwing moved to stand behind the vehicon. The action made XL-2M99 go stiff- plating drew tight, kibble drew together. He wished the response was not so. He wished this army did not view him with such distaste. That this specific mech he had determined to help guide through the grieving process in the wake of those infernal humans did not treat him as though he was repugnant.

"What?" the medic, or the one who had acted as a medic with only training from tablets and minor operations he held no stake in, snapped behind him. When the seeker's response was not immediate, he added more. "What do you want?"

What _did_ he want?

To help. That was what he wished he could do. But he was of no more use in a medbay than he was in a position of military command.

"You must..." he gestured stiffly, trying to find words that would not offend the other. "-dissociate. Disconnect."

The vehicon froze with his servos midway in his friend's internals and then spun his head around to face him.

"What?" XL-2M99 spoke clippedly.

It did not hide the panic. That was exactly what Dreadwing was trying to help with.

"This. This is personal to you. You cannot let that despair and affection cloud your work." That was the rule for battlefield first aid. It was a rule he and his twin had long ago practiced. They'd been forged to be bodyguards, forged to be at risk. They'd needed to train for how to react if the other was injured.

How had he reacted when Skyquake had fallen? Had he remained calm enough, disconnected enough, to save him?

Or had he been across the galaxy, helpless to do anything?

He shook the thought off.

"On the battlefield, we are taught to administer basic aid," Dreadwing continued, daring to take a slight step forward. "If a brother falls, we want to save them. We panic to save them. But allowing that personal panic to seep in will obstruct the ability to administer aid. The personal clouds our ability to save them."

Now he had been speaking for too long. His cadence was slow, but that distracted from the emergency in front of them.

"You want-you want-"

XL-2M99 turned his entire body to face the forged mech and the seeker could not say he liked the tone directed at him; it made him feel impotent in what advice he had tried to offer.

"How often will you come lecture me on what proper training you've had?" the vehicon hissed. "This is time sensitive. I have to save him. I can't-I shouldn't be distracted-you are killing him by speaking."

It was a deflection of panic. It still made Dreadwing's spark sink.

"Apologies. I was trying to help." The seeker retreated a step and prepared to leave. He should have known he would not be wanted here.

Even if the advice was necessary. Even if it was what had to be done whenever a loved one lay on the operating berth and a loved one did the operating.

"How do you expect me to do what you're telling me to?" XL-2M99's voice rose. "How do you expect me to d-disconnect from this? To look at him and not think about his voice never speaking again, his spark never shining, his obnoxious persona-"

Words spritzed out while the medic made a frustrated gesture of helpless anger.

"You know I'm not trained to do that! How can you expect me to suddenly stop worrying about how much is at stake? How would you expect me to do that if it was you on that table?"

The still that followed the comment was overbearing. Dreadwing sought for something to say. XL-2M99 had merely frozen in place, visor overbright.

With no more words to offer, the medic spun around and returned to his frantic job. The seeker retreated to the doorway, posted as a security beacon so no interruptions would arrive.

If Dreadwing had a clear mind, he would have been proud to see that XL-2M99 had started to try as he did with his other patients; had pulled the manuals free and started at step one.

But his mind was not clear.

Had it been, and perhaps he would have noticed his own posture in the doorway.

The posture of a bodyguard.

One he and Skyquake were coded to wear around his one true master.

And Megatron had yet to enter his concerns the entire time he stood waiting.

* * *

The ship that arrived was rather small, not that she could judge. Hers had always been a comfortable size, far from uselessly large. It could have been smaller. But she preferred to have a hall of fame aboard and some of her prey had rather large heads to squeeze into a minuscule ship.

Lockdown had his own hall of fame. Rather than showing off heads, it was merely his many trays of favored mods or the limbs he'd cut off certain high-profile bots. She found it blasé. He had found her heads blasé though. They agreed to disagree on the matter of trophies.

It came down to one of the pits left over by a cavern collapsing. Airachnid waited by the cave entrance and watched as the _Death's Head_ decloaked only when it had extended its landing equipment. Or rather, the holographic technology that the ship had been outfitted with went offline. If the end results were the same as traditional cloaking, why should anyone care?

The main plank lowered. Airachnid smiled and stepped forward. From the dark interior of the ship, Lockdown appeared.

Well, he hadn't changed much since Luna 2. There was a new hook replacing his right arm. She wondered what had happened to the old cannon he'd pulled from the wrecker to use as his former arm. That had been the one and only time she'd seen him retrieving a trophy to wear personally.

His silver face caught sight of hers and they shared a moment of recognition. Then Airachnid let out an airy laugh. "You look absolutely asinine like that."

The bounty hunter raised a brow before glancing down at what she likely meant.

"It's not for looks," he lifted an edge of the material draped over him with his one servo. "But it can make all of mine disappear."

Ah. That excused the awful rag he'd no doubt picked up from some alien market or other.

"Cloaking?" Airachnid stepped close enough to drape a few claws over the synthetic material.

She'd never been one to mess with invisibility. It was so much more fun to let her prey know she was coming.

"Did you pick this fashion statement up from Swindle then?"

Lockdown laughed. It was such a brusque laugh. Normally, she wouldn't deal with anyone with such a gruff tone, but he had a delightful edge of ease to his. He'd always been short, but casual. Even with his victims. It was such fun to watch.

"What do you expect?" he replied.

This time it was Airachnid who laughed. It was a familiar old teasing.

On occasion, it was rather fun to dredge up the past. Why else bother keeping trophies?

* * *

In a quieter cycle when the rest of the team was divided into surveillance and the freedom to wander around their temporary Cybertron base, Optimus found himself alone.

Or alone physically. The silence was not empty. It was merely being used for cross planet communication.

After all, Optimus wished to speak with the autobot he'd left on Earth.

"How are you faring, old friend?" he let himself smile. It would do Ratchet well to hear the smile in his voice. That was why he let himself make the expression more often with the medic than with any others.

The Matrix, after all, demanded he appear as a leader with all the others. But with some soldiers a leader had to show he was a friend.

And Ratchet deserved so much. So much that he couldn't offer the medic. So much he wished he could.

_«Happy. More than happy.»_ There was a smile in Ratchet's voice as well. _«Your success...it's incredible.»_

They'd spoken on it the previous cycle. Optimus had alerted their missing autobot about everything that they'd found at the omega lock.

He battled with disappointment that he even needed to give the story over a comm line. The medic should have been here to watch the regeneration in person.

"I am glad to hear so. And how is Earth?"

The glee filtered away and was replaced by a familiar muttering.

_«As well as it can be. You did leave the job of telling the children to me»_ Ratchet grumbled.

Optimus smiled. "I have every faith that you can do the job well."

_«It's not that, it's the situation with the Darb...»_

There was a pause. Ratchet sighed.

_«I am doing my best. I should return to my work. It's vital I keep all this equipment in order so that I can stay in contact and reach with the team at all times.»_

This time the pause was on the Prime's end.

Sometimes, he did it for effect; to allow sobriety to sink in.

This pause was merely because he had to find the courage to say what he knew would bristle his old friend.

"You should be here."

It was the truth. Ratchet had to know it.

But the medic was slow to reply.

_«Someone needed to control communication and our new space bridge.»_

He was deflecting. It was a common tactic in their conversations.

Either Ratchet was the one trying to make him confront some part of himself that was not right and he was shaking off the medic's concern with Primely grace or-

or it was him, watching his old friend tear himself apart and trying to stall the fall.

Orion Pax had once been Ratchet's friend. But Optimus...Optimus knew he was closer to no other.

And it tore him apart to watch his companion waste away in guilt he didn't deserve.

Ratchet _needed_ to see Cybertron. He needed to see the shining buildings of an older era sitting as beacons of hope amongst a wasteland. But he was afraid to give himself that victory. Afraid to see something that he'd hoped for and despaired over. Afraid to let go of his undeserved responsibilities and reach for a win he did deserve.

"You want to see Cybertron alive just as much as I do," Optimus said simply.

_More_ than he did.

But Ratchet wouldn't admit to that either.

* * *

They toured around her cavern first. Lockdown told her it was disgusting. "Looks like trash" being his exact unminced words. She'd agreed.

The hive had tried to flutter around her. Obviously, they thought she needed protection. Cute. She ordered them all away silently. It wasn't like the other hunter was going to attack her. Besides, if he did, she'd be able to deal with him. He wasn't even all that bigger than she was.

When there was nothing more to see in her makeshift base, Airachnid had turned on him.

"What about a tour for me, darling?" she'd asked. Lockdown shrugged.

The _Death's Head_ looked more messy than it had been three vorns ago. But the trophy case was larger. That was to be rather expected. Hers had grown over those three vorns as well. Until the human had destroyed it.

Lockdown slid to sit on the table he kept in the room. A few tools slid off and rolled beneath it. The messy room was a little messier now.

"I doubt you had me come this way just to take a look at my mods," the bounty hunter stated. She flashed him a smile that she knew was charming.

Charming with a cut of threat behind it. Most of her living acquaintances knew better than to expect anything more than the promise of pain from that expression.

"You wound me!" she set a servo on her chest in dramatics (they'd both engaged in dramatics during their hunts). "But I do suppose you're right."

He gave a short bark of laughter and crossed his arms. "Yeah. So what is it?"

Airachnid joined him in sitting. Since he evidently didn't care what happened to his equipment, she sat on the berth where he strapped his patients down to cut a trophy off and ignored what she knocked to the dirty floor in doing so.

"Have you heard all the excitement on the autobot and decepticon lines recently?"

Lockdown gave a nod. "I keep my audial on 'em both. They're a good way to find new clients- and new marks."

As she'd expected. The smile grew painfully wide.

"Then you've heard all the excitement coming from Cybertron."

It wasn't a question. He didn't treat it like one.

"It just so happens-" Airachnid slid from the table to stalk closer to him. "That there are a few lovely mechs there that I'd like to have writhing at my pedes. They're so busy with each other and that scrapheap of a planet to see me coming."

Not that it was an easy decision. There was a whole planet here with her name on it as well. But the humans no doubt remembered her presence. She always left a mark that way. The cybertronians on the homeworld seemed far too distracted from her.

If she tried to make humankind extinct now, then she'd likely be met with some sort of force. That human at the hostage negotiation shot her with Tox-En and it had managed to actually hurt.

Those on the more specific (as in, not an entire species) kill list she'd been making weren't paying her any attention at all.

Oh, that didn't mean she'd leave the opportunity here. No, she planned on making humanity pay and she had a hive to do so. But Lockdown was here and the _Death's Head_ was with him.

The others would regret leaving her behind while they fawned over Cybertron.

"I have a short but thorough list of my own marks I'd like to make suffer," she continued, gliding a claw over Lockdown's chassis while the mech warred between looking unimpressed and intrigued.

"And, judging by how the decepticon warship seemed to disappear without a trace a few cycles ago...I'd say they've all lined up for me on Cybertron. All I need," Airachnid lifted up higher so that she could effectively whisper the rest "-is a means of flying over there."

The intrigue seemed to have won out. Lockdown casually slid to join her in standing and his smirk betrayed that he rather liked standing over his fellow hunter.

"Sure. I'll give you a ride." His left servo caught hers when it made to give a casual glide over his chassis again. It was a tightly unamused grip. Airachnid could feel the strain buckling her rather fragile digits. _Delightful_.

"But what will you be paying me?"

Right. She tittered. He frowned.

"Credits? What a bore you are, Lockdown." The insecticon cocked her head to one side. "I'm not offering you anything like that."

The mech scoffed.

"I don't work for free, sweetspark," he said dismissively.

Which was a lie. But he was waiting on her to call his bluff.

"Are you trying to make me beg?" she shook her head. "I think I'd rather remind you of a certain debt."

There was a quick flash of surprise on that skull-like face. So he hadn't expected that to be her move? Silly mech.

"You owe me for Praxus. Remember?"

The servo crushing hers released. Lockdown was looking up past her. Possibly mulling over his options. Most likely.

After a moment, he looked down at her again.

"Fine." Oh, he didn't have to sound so grudging about it.

Actually, it made it so much better when he did.

"You've got your ride."

She patted his face and then swiped her servo back before he could grab it again.

"You're a darling," Airachnid teased.

Lockdown interrupted whatever she would've said next.

"What else is this 'favor' going to entail?" the mercenary asked.

Always so no-nonsense. Really, he ought to learn to loosen up, enjoy the mystery. Oh well.

"Just some help in rounding up my quarry," she answered casually. "You'll love my list. It'll be the most difficult chase you'll ever go on. Soundwave alone has been said to be impossible to beat."

He lowered his head and bared his dentae at her while she stared unflinchingly at his ever-closer face.

"And why do you think your little rescue at Praxus is going to be worth that suicide mission?" he hissed but it was far from angry. It was a game. He wanted to hear what he'd get out of this and knew she knew what to say. "What's to say I don't just give you your ride and drop you off on the planet? I'm already not cutting a profit with this; why would I waste more of my time?"

The ball was in her court. And she knew how to send it back again.

"Because I know you," Airachnid moved even closer, looking up into Lockdown's lowered face. They wore the same smile. It was an expression many prey had seen before their end.

"I know what you'd rather have than credits."

The bounty hunter's smile grew.

"Oh, really?" his tone oozed in mild disbelief.

They both knew that she was being honest. They'd tried each other's games before, after all. She preferred the game of genocide and he preferred to chase other cybertronians, but they'd still experimented with the other's style before.

At the core of it all, her genocides and his chases were based in the same passion.

"The _thrill of the hunt_-" she purred. "And I have the hunt of your _lifetime_ planned."

* * *

_AN- If you've made it this far, don't shy away from dropping a review!_


	52. Marks Left By The Dead And Dying

Arcee sees familiar territory and muses on the day she stood there last. XL-2M99 realizes he may not be cut out for the stress of life saving operations. Starscream and Shockwave try to outbitch each other.  
And Breakdown feels ever more trapped in a no-win scenario.

_AN- Very first scene is a flashback. Tailgate's appearance is not based directly on the Cliffjumper repaint they made for WFC Tailgate. Specifically, his visor here is based on IDW Tailgate's rather expressive visor._

* * *

The fumes slipping up out of fissures mixed in with dust to provide an opaque wall that stretched in every direction.

As someone who'd worked out here on occasion before the war, Arcee knew what she should and should not do.

One? Stay put, so long as the immediately surrounding area was safe. If it seemed an acid storm was likely, make that immediately surrounding area one with some sort of outcropping for cover.

Two? Avoid the vents. Toxic fumes could cause corrosion and the risk was much higher when a mech was actually above a fissure.

There was a three and four etcetera all the way down to thirty-four. Standard protocols tried to stay broad and go no further than that.

Right now, the chances were higher that some stray seeker would stop them and lay down strafing fire than a death-by-environment case. It was more likely an engineered weapon damaged them than some rain or fumes. Right now, all that mattered were the rules regarding movement over the plains.

And they were pretty blunt. Traversing the Sea of Rust without protective supplies or the knowledge of another team nearby to rescue you if you found yourself lost was a fragging stupid idea. Especially when visibility was at a zero. That increased the odds of getting lost, of having windblown corrosives eat away at important systems like, say, tracking systems. Or wandering could end with you walking over a leaking fissure and enjoying the sensation that was corrosive tearing away your optics. Lovely stuff, that. The short of it was that it was better to hold still and wait for the wind to die down. That would risk less to their tracking systems and that in turn would keep them from losing their position on the planet too much.

Somehow, despite the simplicity of the rules, Tailgate didn't seem to remember that.

The white and blue mech kicked at a few stray scraps of metal and watched them tumble off the round plateau. They disappeared from sight in the orange haze before hitting the bottom.

"Alright." The other scout turned away from the edge and shrugged at her. "We're well and truly slagged."

She snorted out a laugh. There was just something so upbeat about the way he said words of doom and gloom.

"And who's fault is that?" she replied. "We could be on our way to the Hydrax Plateau right now, but _noo_, you had to tell them that we could take the rest of the cons."

Tailgate offered a grin. His blue visor was bright in the dust.

Sometimes she wished that he had optics rather than just the visor. They were more expressive. It'd make it easier for her to read whether he really was happy or if he was holding back on some uneasiness from recent events.

"We did take them, didn't we?"

Arcee snorted again. "About a jour after the rest of them had already driven off together. Now what, genius?"

The other scout went thoughtful, moving his head to glance over the opaque orange landscape.

"You think we can catch up with the others?" he asked.

It was either stupidly hopeful or else rhetorical. If she knew Tailgate, it was a mesh of both.

And she _did_ know him. She'd known him long before the cycle that she'd dragged them both over to the militia set up outside Iacon and demanded to work with Orion Pax's army.

Scrap, they'd been young. Not really, both were very much adults by the time that the first battles began, but they'd still carried a noticeable naivety.

Sure, it had always been impossible to really be young on Cybertron. A bot went straight from forging to their place in the caste- or outside of it, for the unlucky ones. Both Arcee and Tailgate only met because of their position in the same caste level. They lived in the same section of the city, crossed paths on their assigned jobs as cartographers, and ended up meeting each other at the nicest oil house they were permitted into. All of which started during their first vorn online. Though they rarely bragged to others about it anymore, they'd been attached practically all their lives. When squadrons were being assigned, the both of them refused to be anything but partners.

Arcee was the faster of the bunch. She took on a job as a scout. Tailgate preferred to fight from a distance, which she ribbed him about no small amount. Still, his presence as a sniper made her own scouting runs a bit more confident. They'd both worked as cartographers in a more direct way than just filing maps at the Hall of Records where Orion Pax had worked. Transferring the experience they'd both held for vorns to scouting was only logical.

At the start, things were kind of lively. Almost fun. It certainly was a break from living the exact same life they'd always been living. They got special flair in the militia. They wore the temporary badge scraped up by the council when they were authorizing its creation. It let them into any place they normally would be restricted from. At the start, she and Tailgate had rather amused themselves by strolling into high society and watching the grimaces around them by all the stuffy mechs who were forced to treat them like they belonged.

These cycles, there weren't any places like that left standing. They'd been the first to fall to Megatron once he had secured the seekers of Vos and directed them to the palaces in Iacon.

Arcee remembered the first of his rallies she went to. There was something surreal comparing that event to the enemy she faced now. Much as she had never been a fan, it was hard to match the public speaker to the warlord.

Surreality didn't matter. It was also hard to match the faces and places of her past to the wreckages around her. Didn't stop from making them all very much real.

That time when she and Tailgate would wander home from work with arms slung over each other's shoulders and enjoy the scandalized stares of the nobles when they'd saunter into their plazas was just as surreal- a time when their temporary badges were a bragging right and made two cocky cybertronians feel like they were on the path to make a difference.

Now the militia just looked like a joke. It should've been so obvious that it was only Megatron grasping for power, for the start of an army, so that he could turn it all on the very council he had been leading the recruits to protect. The senate had suspected that. She was in the Hall of Records enough to hear that. They favored the archivist, the iaconian, the timid. And if that's what the council liked best, that was the only commander she was going to let herself and Tailgate serve under. Orion Pax hadn't even been a commander.

As she'd said: naive.

How Tailgate had managed to retain so much of his hopeful attitude while the rest of their naivety got wiped away was a grand mystery to Arcee. What she did know was that it was contagious optimism- so long as they were around each other, her sarcasm rubbed on him and his cheer rubbed on her.

Primus, she remembered the days when he was as dense as a sparkling; when sarcasm flew right over his head and he was willing to believe just about anything someone told him.

Now his smile had an older edge to it. Now he could take the head off a con from 3 clicks away and never show the gore effecting him after. Now they both toasted over downed enemies rather than ridiculous dreams.

But they still walked with arms slung around each other and shared a happiness their teammates and enemies couldn't touch.

The cynical part of her always tagged a_ for now_ after those thoughts.

She'd always had rather sardonic traits, but now her outlook on life was outright cynical. And Tailgate's was too. That, if nothing else, was the biggest evidence her negative processor had for adding all those_ for now_'s to positive thoughts.

"And break a good adventurer's protocol by walking out into the Sea of Rust during a storm?" she finally responded to his most-likely-rhetorical question. "No."

The small mech walked away from the edge to join her on the center of the plateau. He reached out and took her servo absently. It was a subdued expression. Neither were very energetic during the lulls between action. Not anymore. But a familiar gesture, a familiar presence?

Their smiles carried cynicism. They had a kill count neither tried to keep track of. They were so far from the iaconians that had joined a militia without ever comprehending their own servos offlining another cybertronian.

It was impossible to think of the other as the same bot they'd known long ago; just as impossible as it was to think of themselves as the same person they'd once been. It was evident in their smiles. Evident in the ease they both had in killing now. Evident in the swirling chaos around them- not just in the Sea of Rust, but the warring world they fought for.

Familiar was a surreal idea. But it was the touch of the other's servo on their own, the dry humor away from the death, the utter trust they shared.

It was a touch of the past yet a glimpse at the hope of the future.

Both were loyal autobots and effective soldiers. Ultra Magnus preferred to have their duo with him and even Optimus Prime had found time over the vorns to praise her. When it came to the war, they'd do what it took and give it their all for their cause.

When it came to the potential peacetime ahead, well. They had each other to provide hope there.

* * *

It had taken her off guard the moment they reached the coordinates.

Of course, as a trained soldier, she didn't show her surprise anymore than she gave it second thought so long as the fight went on.

The break in professionalism only happened when the building was repaired.

She recognized it. Sure, it was shinier than the sooty abandoned outpost she remembered, but she still knew what it was. Where it was.

They'd been here. Right here, all those vorns ago, and never knew what was nearby. Springer had been directing them off from the top floor of that dome. Tailgate had laughed, set his sniper up against one of the flat windows._ "With the boogeys on our tailpipes?"_ he'd told the commander, pointing at himself and then the femme. _"We'll deal with them and meet you."_ And, like he always did, Tailgate wouldn't take no for an answer. He didn't chatter much but when he spoke, he was determined to follow through on his words.

He'd camped up top in the dome and shot down the seekers that peeked through the growing storms. Arcee had climbed through the windows and pulled her way to the top of the dome itself. The roof wasn't perfect. A portion was blowing away. Its bronze was blackened from soot. It had been hit by battle- not just the one that had recently occured, but any of the bombing streaks left down over the settlements in the Sea of Rust.

She'd shot at the cons from that vantage until she'd been forced to abandon the spot. From there, Arcee had raced through streaking gunfire. A short distance from the structures of destroyed civilization lay a flat plateau, covered in sediment and colored the same dull rust shade as everything else found naturally around here.

It never would have occurred to her then that it was not natural. It did not belong buried in dust among ruins.

Some of the dust had blown free by the time they arrived, revealing the metal structure beneath. The rest slid from its place when the lock rose to its full activation.

Watching those pillars rise up into the air, transform the landscape around them all- it was mind blowing. Arcee didn't think there was much left in the world to surprise her. The truth was that she tried not to let anything take her by surprise anymore.

Not after being struck into stasis unexpectedly because she was paying too much attention to teasing Tailgate over their comm. Not after being caught unawares by the sight of his body getting dragged into the musky interrogation room.

Not after Cliffjumper had tried to show her why going with the flow of life was better than being rigid in her expectations.

And the truth was...as much as she tried to keep her guard up and expect the unexpected, watching the key to their planet's revival rise up from a spot she'd passed by multiple times during expeditions into the Sea of Rust was never going to be something she could accept without surprise.

Before the war, that dome had been the main hall of a scientific outpost that monitored the fumes pouring out from under the Sea of Rust; the outpost was a common rest stop for cartographers mapping out changes to the valley's recent geology. During the war, it had been a shelter while she and her partner waited out a storm and kept low from decepticon attention. And now that the war was supposedly over?

It was Autobot Outpost One, a name designated shortly after they'd scouted it out to test its suitability. She couldn't help but think that Jack was going to find the name rather confusing. To her, it was easy to distinguish from the designation of their base on Earth; after all, any outpost built on Earth would include the word Omega (which signified its presence as one of the later planets found and settled by autobots). It didn't really matter. Jack wasn't here. He couldn't be until the whole planet was regenerated and the peacetime after war let her find an engineer who could build the teen a better environmental suit than the human made one.

She'd told him that she wanted to show him her world. Her real world, not this dead place. And she liked to honor her statements.

First things first, they had to save the place and end the war. This outpost- the omega lock building a rather nice set of companion buildings to the dome that stretched over the ground to wall one side of the vital artifact- was the first step in that.

There was work to be done. More permanent communications equipment needed to be built, weaponry needed to be set up, and scouts needed to do their job and scout the area. The decepticons had been too quiet. It had only been a day (she was going to have to unlearn her habit of telling time by Earth days) since they'd fought over the lock, but that still felt like a day too long for the cons. It wasn't their style to wait.

It meant Megatron was strategizing instead of relying on brute force.

While that made sense on his part (she _had_ seen the battle, if it could be called that, at Egypt), it did not bode well for them. After he'd returned with dark energon, fighting the decepticons had almost been _easier_ than ever. Their high command had gone through continuous shuffles lately, which also had an undeniable impact, but Arcee suspected that their leader was thinking less clearly than the capable scheming he'd used during the war for Cybertron.

A Megatron that was back to thinking was far from what the autobots needed right now.

But a scout that was distracted was also far from useful. Arcee shook out of her reverie and prepared to get to work patrolling the perimeter.

* * *

"Catch!"

The cheerful call came only a nano before XL-2M99 felt something hit his helm. The alert had made him jolt in an attempt to turn around and doing so barred his scar for whatever infernal thing the visitor had thrown at him.

For a moment, he felt the urge to spring up and find the mech responsible for making _that area_ sting again.

He reined himself in by the time he straightened up from the surprising impact. Instead of acting rashly, he was able to glare in the direction of the culprit.

XL-3T09 looked far from guilty. The little slagger.

On the ground, a can of what appeared to be wax rolled over the floor. It had dropped there after hitting him.

He decided the flyer deserved another glare and delivered it.

"Aw, don't be like that," XL-3T09 teased, crossing the distance from the open door to pick up the can.

Leaving it open came with the unfortunate side effect that was visitors being able to enter without drawing his attention in the way a door sliding open would.

But he'd locked it shut after SA:9 and closing up the empty room had felt overbearing ever since then. It enclosed down on him, hidden cameras watching and sending the image of his shaking form to who knew how many more than Dreadwing; it evoked the roiling nausea, the burning sensation on the servo that had held the borrowed gun and on his face alike- and why would he desire to feel that bearing down on him again? If there was to be no privacy either way, then it was better to not feel every wall trapping him. It was better not to feel that phantom fire.

Even if it meant XL-3T09 or another could slip in without permission or warning.

"I got it just for you!" the flyer pushed his datapad away to sit on his desk and crowd into the still seated XL-2M99's space. "Besides, don't be such a sour puss. You were supposed to catch it."

Instead of saying anything he should have, the medic replied with a confused "...sour...puss?"

There was a beat. Then XL-3T09 patted his shoulder.

"You poor thing," his voice sounded far more serious than his words demanded. "You've been cooped up in here too long. You're missing out on all our latest Earth discoveries."

That was...probably true. Although before he'd been given this room, he'd spent most of his time mining and only had time for such 'discoveries' when his shift landed him on the _Nemesis_ for a rest.

"What is it, anyway?" he changed subjects away from his apparent insufficiency in the most up-to-date vehicon culture.

As he'd suspected, it was wax. Technically, he shouldn't have it. It wasn't against the official rules, but Starscream had always been rather strict about bringing human goods aboard their ship. Knock Out had purposefully pushed those limits by flaunting his human-origin polishes.

Not for the first time, XL-2M99 mentally compared the traitorous doctor to his vehicon friend. They both lived for attention and breaking rules happened to draw attention very well.

"Is it for you?" the medic asked.

XL-3T09 shrugged. "I plan on using some too, but I got it for you."

Thoughtful, but...he didn't want it. He already felt as though he got more stares than he did. The glyph painted on his shoulder alienated him from the other vehicons. And wax could do nothing to cover the disgusting marring on his helm. If anything, it would only draw more stares and those would rise from his polished chassis to his warped face and bear _that day_ open for their attention.

"You're the one that wants to be looked at," XL-2M99 pushed the can towards the other gently. "I'd rather you use it. But keep it hidden. Are you trying to get your paint peeled off?"

The mood dropped a touch.

"Now you're the one being a sourpuss," the medic tried to bring it back to a happier tone whilst simultaneously pushing the flyer off his desk. That was for his work and his tree (what remained of it), not for uninvited cybertronians to sit on. The other allowed the push, sliding off and laughing.

"Don't worry. I'll hide it. So long as you promise you'll let me use some on you."

"Speaking of hiding things," XL-2M99 lowered his voice. XL-3T09 leaned down to hear him better. "How is it going?" the medic whispered, not that it could hide their words from Soundwave. But vehicon's private channels were all monitored by the TIC. There was no true way to speak without risking being heard. "The names?"

"A few of us have already found ones. Next time you're off shift, I'll take you over to whoever's in the rec room at that time that's got a new name and you can hear it from them," the flyer replied.

Which was a thrilling thought- that it had already begun, that others were finding their own equivalent to the glaring glyph on his own shoulder.

But of more importance...

"Did you pick one yet?" he asked and, despite his own fear revolving around how the officers of the army would react to this newest change, XL-2M99 found himself excited to hear whatever it would be.

"Not yet-" the other shut that excitement down before flippantly waving a servo. "So many to choose from, you know? I have to find one with the right flair to it."

And how very like him that was. XL-3T09 was too lively, too dramatic, for anything else.

The way he danced just to try to reenact the odd scene XL-2M99 had watched in Starscream's mind during the cortical psychic patch a few moments later or tripped over the berth and laughed about it just served to prove that.

This kind of happiness was all too real in the moment and all too fragile later.

Despite his caution at the time, XL-2M99 didn't think the moment would break apart. Not so soon. Not like this.

Their chat had been interrupted by the generic _prepare for combat_ order XL-3T09 received. The medic had told him good riddance and made a big show of getting back to his work. The flyer had thrown the can of wax at him again and fled before the favor could be returned.

They couldn't let the call to arms upset them. It was to be expected. Vehicons were always prepared to be ordered to battle.

They weren't expected to come back. Ignoring that let them stay sane. But ignoring danger never made it go away.

XL-2M99 stood back from the medical berth shakily; he retreated from its side for the first time that jour.

The vehicon on the berth did not move. Terminals over his unconscious head showed steady vitals. Not stable, but steadier than before. He was allowed to hope now. The panic that had coursed through him since XL-3T09 was carried into his medbay left him far too hollow to hope. But that panic had dulled away as well.

Was this how a medic was supposed to feel, then? Was this emptiness what Dreadwing had told him to feel?

He did not think so. This was not being disconnected, or whatever impossible slag the seeker had told him to do. There was too much at stake and it remained thusly while he waited for the mech on the berth to make some response to treatment. His part in this operation was done, unless the vitals on the screen suddenly flared up, and now he felt powerless to bring the teasing attention seeking vehicon back into his own rather subdued life.

There was a shuffling near the door. XL-2M99 forced his exhausted frame to move and looked in time to see Dreadwing making his way out. The seeker paused when their attention met. It was a horrid pause. XL-2M99 felt too tired to deal with it. Or any of this; his companion on the berth after nearly dying, another offering advice he did not know what to say to- it was all too much.

"He is...safe?" the officer asked haltingly.

XL-2M99 made a subdued gesture with fluid covered servos.

"As stable as I could get him. I think he'll pull through," he answered. His voice was quieter than normal. And it was always low since the _incident_\- he'd heard enough of his voice for a lifetime when it had screamed and broke while the autobot kept the welder down. If he could speak without ever hearing himself again, it would be better than hearing the voice of a beggar.

Dreadwing stayed where he stood, flexing his servos.

"You did well."

_I don't need your pride_

_I have nothing to prove to a forged_

_...Thank you._

XL-2M99 offered a distracted nod before turning to look at the mech on the berth.

A moment later and he spoke again. "If...if he..."

He thought of a dim room and the fires of burning energon.

"Is there any way to make this..."

_Easier?_

When he did not speak again, Dreadwing seemed to fill in the blanks.

"There are procedures," he spoke up slowly. Heavy pedesteps drew nearer, although cautiously. "Blessings. Prayers. ...I should be giving a report on the bridge; Soundwave may be unhappy with my continued absence. But when I am done...if you would like-"

The offer hung in the air. XL-2M99 clenched his servos tight. If the flyer was to die, perhaps he should never wipe the fluids off; perhaps they could remain there as his reminder that the bright spark had once burned-

He gave a nod and looked at the seeker who had come besides him.

"If that is what is appropriate."

_If that is what will help with this terror, this fear that he will never talk again, and that it should be his poor excuse for a medic's fault-_

The officer looked past him to the vehicon on the berth.

"Then I shall guide you through one," he said simply. "But you should not spend time in worry; you should be proud of what you did here."

_Without your training and skill,_ the medic filled in mentally. Instead of feeling bitter over the idea, he just gave another short nod.

And the seeker felt fulfillment course through his own spark. He set his servo on XL-2M99's shoulder; the movement was absent minded, almost like the friendly gestures he once shared with Skyquake and they with a much younger Megatron.

XL-2M99 was not one of them. The medic shrugged away from the servo.

"Don't touch me."

The hold dropped away and both remained separated by air but experiencing no bitter distaste in the other's close presense.

* * *

Starscream wasn't sure whether to feel threatened or offended.

On the one side of that duality, Shockwave was obviously a bit bitter for that little _mishap_ about the space bridge. For a supposedly emotionless mech, the scientist sounded awfully personal when accusing him. And he couldn't help but get offended when someone treated him like that.

On the other, _Shockwave was obviously bitter about it_. Reminders of the monstrosities he'd turned damaged cybertronians into or the tests he'd run on anyone at all just to see if his little experiments like that accursed cortical psychic patch worked ran through the seekers mind. No, he'd rather not have that mech leering down his neck.

Speaking of-

The scientist turned away from whatever rather boring speech he was giving Megatron and focused on him.

"But this army is not the search party I envisioned so long ago," Shockwave droned, his one-note tone somehow growing darker with each sentence. "Leaving one unanswered question: why was I left for scrap?"

The ground reverberated when he strode towards the seeker.

"Abandoned."

Right, and whoever bothered to give him the whole 'emotionless' scrap next was going to get clawed to bits because that accusation the scientist was tossing out was very much angry.

"_Why_?" came the last drawn out word. Starscream gave a nervous chuckle.

"Th-the explosion, it knocked out the power core chamber!" he protested. "The last thing anyone witnessed was you charging into the space bridge portal; no one saw you come back out!"

The few nanos left between his explanation and the expressionless mech's reply stretched on. Starscream felt a coiling, anticipatory nervousness.

He'd witnessed what became of the mech's sent to Shockwave's labs in the past. There was no desire at all to join them.

If he was being honest with himself, there was a large amount of fear tied to the idea- to the very disgusting visage of this mindless sycophant- that had been there for many, many vorns.

But he didn't like being honest to himself when it came to admitting fears.

Evidently his answer was good enough for Shockwave. The larger con stepped back and devoted his sole attention to Megatron again. Always so eager to return to simpering over his master's pedes. Always so desperate for attention. How pathetic. Starscream sneered and the expression froze on his face for the duration of their meeting.

Until Shockwave revealed his newest toy.

Which happened when Megatron had been in the process of explaining what their current unhappy scenario was and the scientist had offered a boring attempt at reassurement.

"You need a weapon with enough speed to avoid this relic Optimus Prime now uses and enough strength take the omega lock." Shockwave nodded at his own words. "I think you will be pleased with my work here then."

Right. Maybe it'd be another cortical patch project that they could wave at the autobots until they cowered. Or maybe it was a new space bridge. Starscream was perfectly capable of arranging their construction now. Shockwave had been so pleased with reverse engineering forgotten technology and making a bridge that managed to deliver two new autobots to Optimus Prime without giving them a victory at all (except for seemingly killing the scientist- but _of course_ Shockwave couldn't bother to _stay dead_). But Starscream had overseen the construction of _two_ on Earth and the third certainly could not have been built without the careful instructions he'd left for the first two.

So really was there even any argument about Shockwave's use-usefu-

Any thoughts he was angrily mulling over fell away.

_Oh._

Whatever that was...

-it wasn't something Shockwave had given him any warning for. The thing making the floors shake and guttural growls and that had a head as large as he was looking carefully up at Megatron was no mere _weapon_. It was alive.

Shockwave had really overdone himself this time.

* * *

The wall looked over the Sea of Rust. It was a rather familiar place. He'd been stationed here enough times to forget the number. The Stunticons had worked around this wasteland of a valley many times. After them, he and Knock Out had found themselves travelling around there on occasion. Sometimes they were lucky enough to run into a wrecker or two.

Maybe 'lucky' wasn't the right word for it anymore. The two wreckers he was currently working with would be pretty offended about that phrasing.

Breakdown had only recently finished helping Knock Out and Wheeljack set up a more permanent communications center. Or rather, he and his partner had been doing whatever Wheeljack told them to do. Which wasn't very pleasant to put up with, but he'd managed not to make that known. The fact that the wrecker himself hardly seemed to know what he was doing helped; it let the internal amusement and judgement balance out the frustration of getting ordered around by someone who'd all too recently snapped at Knock Out in Ratchet's medbay.

Snapping at Knock Out meant answering to Breakdown normally.

It was on his way back from the new job (making sure one of the external cannons set up on the wall outside worked) after the Prime had rotated jobs around that he'd heard it.

_It_ being Bulkhead, who was talking lowly with Wheeljack.

Breakdown caught a name from the conversation. Not much more than a name before both noticed him. Bulkhead had offered an awkward wave. Wheeljack had given a salute that meant, quite plainly, _why are you still here?_ He'd left them both behind and tried to put the conversation behind too.

But it was bothering him. It meant the green wrecker was still thinking about their shared history. It meant a whole lot of scrap that they had wavered on whether to talk about or bury during that cycle on Earth so recently. Because Knock Out interrupted said talk of theirs, Breakdown wasn't sure what they'd determined to do.

Hearing Bulkhead talking about the past with another wrecker let him know how it was gonna go on the other mech's part.

Which meant he was going to have to brace for a talk where old stories would get dug up and guilt would be asked for regarding names. Names like _Altus_ that he'd heard dropped in the other's words. And no doubt a whole lot of other mech's designations.

Viscosi had probably been easier to talk with his rival about. At least at Viscosi he could pin the blame on the Stunticons, even if he knew well enough he would've done what he had without them.

Altus had no such excuse.

Scrap, he wasn't supposed to be bothering with thinking about this. He _couldn't_. There was no answer, no solution, no orders on what to do when he did look back to those instances in the past.

He needed Knock Out. Knock Out could tell him to regret it. Knock Out could tell him to ignore the memories and avoid the lack of regret.

He depended on the other to direct him.

Because all he knew was that this was uncharted territory, but he'd really rather not have to look at the past. The status quo had grown too comfortable for that.

There really was no winning here.

Frag it all.

Breakdown growled and resisted the temptation to hit the stupid barricade he was standing atop.

This was unnatural and he knew it. Everything had been unnatural since he'd woken up in the autobot base with Knock Out standing over him and telling him they were gonna play at being autobots now.

But now they'd gone back to something more normal. Something had switched during the last days on Earth and let him recover their old bond, their old dynamic- his old direction.

So why did his tanks feel so leadened?

Why did he stress over how to view the past while trying so hard to escape into it with Knock Out?

Breakdown looked out past the wall at the cybertronian expanse.

It was home. Still far from living and beautiful, but it was not at the moment a warscape.

It was a fresh start. Wasn't that what the medic had told him he wanted for them both by dragging them to the bots?

From the dome, Knock Out called him. Something to do, then. Maybe they were due to finish the buffing they'd started before departure. Maybe he wanted Breakdown to go with him to spend time with one of Knock Out's friends among the autobots.

The feeling shouldn't leave him unsettled, but it did.

But the call was still there- still hanging.

Breakdown turned away from the cybertronian expanse and walked towards where his partner was yelling for him.


	53. Boredom May Be Better

Life on Earth and Cybertron starts to heat up.

_AN- No flashbacks this time around, so scenes are mostly concurrent._

* * *

They grouped together at the base.

June and Jack drove despite Ratchet's offer to bridge them in. She'd said it was a "nice, warm day". Great for a "sunny drive". Besides, it had been so long since she and her son could go somewhere together; he'd been so independent since getting his ten-speed.

What she didn't say was that she needed to do it. Did she want to? No. Her skin went clammy whenever a cloud passing overhead caused the car to go shaded; the prickling feeling that something would swoop down and pick the car up rose whenever it was so obvious something airborne was overhead.

But what mattered was pushing forward. The old fable said to get back up on the horse when you fall off. The longer you wait to mount it again, the more the fear of doing so grows. Well, a car drive was no horse but the analogy fit well. Driving was too essential a part of her life for June to just coop up in her home and rely on Ratchet to teleport her here and there. It wasn't like he was going to be there with the groundbridge forever. Wasn't that why they were going in today?

Rafael and Miko wouldn't have a ride; neither of their families (or host family in the girl's case) knew about the existence of the autobot base. The boy took the bus to the school parking lot and then walked right away from it. It was a startling feeling. He'd never skipped on school before. His parents were going to skin him alive when they got the call that he was missing. True, he could have called in sick but that wouldn't have flown with his parents either. They knew for a fact he had been fine that morning before he'd gotten the call from Jack telling him that Bumblebee wasn't going to be driving him to school that day. That, and his family never called in sick. There was no time to be sick so long as learning or work needed to be done.

Miko had made fun of him for it. The teen met him by the eastern corner of the main building and led them both away from the premises. Because of course Miko knew the best ways to escape from school. Of course. Raf couldn't help but roll his eyes behind his glasses. "Lighten up, old man," she pushed him along when he'd started getting a bit too frantic over his worries about the truancy they were committing. "Besides, no one cares if some kid ditches class."

He was pretty sure the exchange student programs cared, not that he told Miko that; he didn't want to make her worry. They were both unhappy enough over the dread hanging in the air around Jack's elusive call and Ratchet's short notice that the autobots were simply 'gone' for a while. Raf had something she didn't though; he had an email from his cybertronian partner. It had been sent sometime during his own time asleep and he'd only had time to check his inbox after he'd already received the unhappy call from Jack. He thought it was best not to mention it to the other two however. They may think he was rubbing in their own lack of explanations from Bulkhead and Arcee.

They'd ended up bridging to the base as soon as they'd walked through the outskirts of the town to an empty enough area.

Jack felt weird the entire drive there. He'd been forced to call KO Burger and tell them to use his sick leave for both his shifts that day (the hour before school and the two afterwards; he was lucky his work and the Jasper high school were so close to each other), then call the school itself to try to wheedle his way out of going. He was too responsible to do otherwise, even if they hadn't believed his claims and his mom had taken the cell away to tell them plainly her son was not going to be arriving that day.

Between that embarrassment and the odd feeling of sitting in the passenger's seat of a nonliving car while someone else drove it, Jack felt like he'd been forced into the role of a little kid again.

And he'd never spent much time being a kid that relied on the adults in his life. From his youngest memories, he'd wanted to help his mom with the house they'd gotten out in the 'boonies' after they'd both left his dad behind. There was something very odd about sitting here quietly while his mom was at the wheel jumping at every cloud overhead.

It was a relief to all four humans when they arrived in the main room of the autobot base.

But it was far too quiet here. There was something just wrong with a quiet base.

Agent Fowler rode down the elevator only ten minutes after the other four had arrived. He straightened his tie while he looked up at Ratchet and asked cleanly: "So. What'd I miss?"

Miko ran up and hit him. While the grown man blinked in shock, he noticed the glares of the other humans on the catwalk.

"What?" he asked, even though he had a very good idea what had them all looking so upset with him.

"You thought you could see them leave and not tell the rest of us?" June Darby glared. "You didn't think maybe we deserved to know too?"

Raf sniffed; it was the only sign he let slip free to show how he was dealing with the surprise. He'd already almost cried after seeing Bumblebee's short message (the scout had written that he was rushed for time and about to depart to a battle on Cybertron, so he'd had to keep it short) and he wasn't going to get so close to doing it again. "Bee said they had to rush. But we still should've gotten some sort of warning."

From where he stood at the monitor, Ratchet shifted uncomfortably. He knew he had done most of the 'rushing'. At the time, it was too important to stall on. Cybertron had to be saved. It had to be.

Even at the expense of some hurt human feelings.

Even then.

"It's not permanent," he spoke up despite his own processor's blaring attempts to deflect the guilt he felt away.

The humans looked up at him.

"This is a spacebridge now," Ratchet elaborated with a wave at said technology. "I can bring the team back at any time."

It did seem to reassure them. Distraught faces brightened. One of them fell back into neutrality a moment later; the man himself sliding away from the others to read something on his phone.

"You didn't miss a farewell because you're going to get to see them all again," he promised, even though he knew it was foolish to ever make a promise in a war.

Agent Fowler shoved his phone back into his jacket and frowned up at him.

"You mean you can call the team together without any wait time?"

Well...not necessarily. Should they be in battle or working, they likely couldn't pause everything just to pop over to Earth.

"So long as they aren't busy," Ratchet answered carefully.

The agent gave a distracted nod.

"Good," he said. "'cause we may need to take you up on that."

That...did not seem reassuring at all. Fowler must have received some sort of emergency alert- but what would warrant their team's attention? Was M.E.C.H. rearing up again? Airachnid? He wasn't going to waste fuel bringing the other's back for some silly human problem; cleaning those up was what other humans were good for.

Even if it would mean letting the kids see their cybertronian partners again.

After the others had left, Ratchet was still mulling this over. Still tempted to activate the spacebridge and offer this family a chance to spend more time together. That alone was tempting enough; the article Fowler had sent over his comms was just added support for that plan.

Ratchet returned to his medbay in the midst of the new silence.

He could bridge them back; that was true. But a spacebridge and groundbridge both needed fuel to operate. And this outpost did not have unlimited resources.

Unless...

But it wasn't stable. He was no scientist. The formula was incomplete and his attempt to finish it alone had brought little progress. It remained much as it was the last time he had tested it on something (or someone, in that case) important.

The fact was that the synthetic energon was still not finished.

Its unstable variation was also easy to create with current resources and its side effects seemed most dangerous when given to a living bot for fuel.

For a spacebridge?

He should test it further. He should take advantage of the new quiet to work on finishing the formula.

He should.

But, besides the strange occurrences Fowler had discovered, the team may also need him to bridge them from danger and then back to Cybertron- and that meant the spacebridge would be needing to remain operational for multiple uses.

Sometimes, decisions Optimus would frown at had to be made.

* * *

The new creation was fascinating to behold. It was larger than those Shockwave had made in the past. There was something dangerous about the way it moved slow and unthreatening. Most of the other beasts had been bright, active, vicious. Shockwave had been forced to install coding and failsafes to keep them from tearing apart just as many decepticons as they did autobots.

This one made no move towards any of them. It slunk its way to Shockwave's side, head drifting up under the gun arm of the emotionless mech, before sliding past him to move towards Megatron himself. The floor moved under its weight. Yellow optics looked away from its creator to land on him, but it seemed far from likely to attack. Where was that mindless energy? That instinct to kill? The warlord found a small smirk growing; it seemed his top scientist had found a way to create a tame weapon then.

It prowled ever nearer, claws carving into the metal floor and tail swinging lazily behind its long body. Mandibles parted as it looked up at him; in surprise, in hunger, in wonder- Megatron did not care. There was no reason to psychoanalyze a beast.

That head drew nearer but not in a way that belied threat. There was a curious investigation at play, or perhaps Shockwave had programmed it well enough to recognize its lord and wait for orders. The insecticons operated on such a base coding, after all.

"A predacon." He smiled at his lead scientist, who made no expression back.

It was not a question. Shockwave had made many predacons in the past to use against the infernal autobots.

"A- a what?" interrupted Starscream. The seeker prowled close, obviously hoping to interject but trying to keep a wide berth from the living weapon. The predacon tilted its head to look at the newcomer.

"An extinct race of beasts that once held a great presence on this planet before the Great Cataclysm," Shockwave answered without inflection. The predacon glanced behind itself to stare at its creator. The tail flicked and Megatron caught sight of its dangerous pronged tip.

Starscream had made it all the way to the warlord's side and was now sneering at the beast. The shaking of his lowered wings betrayed how he truly felt, though; no amount of insult or pride could hide the fear of this seeker. Not to Megatron, at least.

"If they are extinct, why is this monstrosity here?"

What a stupid question. No doubt his air commander knew it too. Ah, Starscream always did revert to such idiotic blustering when juggling with surprise.

"I created it using predacon CNA," Shockwave stated.

The predacon's tail flicked again. It looked back from its creator to stare at the two of them, head cocked to the side. The new attention made Starscream shrink down on himself even more.

"Tha-that's impossible!" he argued against a fact that lay right in front of his optics. "The Great Cataclysm was eons ago! There would not be any remains for you to have found!"

An astute observation. Megatron was pleased that his seeker was thinking rather than acting without rational.

"That would have been the case," the warlord spoke and drew the attention of Starscream and Shockwave away from each other. "-had Shockwave not cloned a powerful batch of predacons vorns ago."

The scientists nodded. "Indeed. This predacon is not cloned from those that lived before the Great Cataclysm. It was cloned from my original experiments CNA."

So its lifespan would be short, as most clones of artificial life were? No matter. It only needed to live long enough to destroy Optimus Prime. After that, Megatron had no more need for a living predacon.

Starscream sneered again at the explanation, although he lost the expression when he danced backwards after the predacon nudged its head towards them both.

"I trust it is fully grown?" Megatron said when he had lost interest in watching the beast and his air commander interact.

"Fully grown and ready for battle," the one-optic'd mech said.

The warlord's smile grew wider still. So it was ready to be unleashed, at this very moment?

_"Good."_

* * *

Life was good.

They were all on Cybertron and the omega lock hadn't been touched. Breakdown was at his side whenever he asked him to be and the blue mech was obviously excited to see his homeworld. It made Knock Out feel _warm and fuzzy_ (to borrow the somewhat untranslatable expression, but he'd always loved borrowing from other cultures); this- letting Breakdown return to Cybertron with the hope given by the omega lock for restoration- was something he'd imagined and wondered over many times while on that moon base with Brainstorm.

The planet itself was far from regenerated, but the fact was that it was only a matter of time. Earth was only a spacebridge away and Knock Out couldn't help but feel relieved at that. This time, there was no government telling him he wasn't allowed to visit the organic world. This time, he could go back and enjoy the feeling of speeding over dirt any time he liked.

The only thing that bothered him was a little dilemma of his.

He hadn't really figured out yet how best to go tell the Prime about certain things like, say, Shockwave being alive (after all, Knock Out had been the one to meet him last time while directing a unit to clean up the wreckage of the omega lock) and messing with all the rules of nature. There wasn't really a way to explain it without coming clean about everything and that would make him look like a total lunatic.

But other than that dilemma, he hadn't found a single reason to complain.

* * *

The _Death's Head_ was ready to depart as soon as it had landed. Lockdown hadn't exactly expected to stay long, which Airachnid gave him credit for. He was sharp, that was undeniable.

But they didn't leave immediately. First things first, wasn't it?

She delved into the hive and sought out the nearest warrior. It did not matter if she told him in person, since all could hear her command over the mental connection, but there was something satisfying about watching such big bots wait on her every command.

Her choice of insecticon wasn't very mulled over. Hardshell was near and contained a dash of pride and viciousness in his brainless head that would be perfect for the job.

Lockdown found her on the ramp. He leaned over her while she lounged on top of it.

"Ready?"

How impatient the bounty hunter was. Didn't he understand the thrill of taking things nice and slowly? Airachnid knew the importance of playing a waiting game just as she knew the vitality of stretching agony out. There had to be time for an impact to sink in.

"In a moment, sweetspark," she mocked, waving the green mech away. There was a similarly mocking kick to her back and then the hunter had disappeared back on board.

Well. In truth, she was impatient as well. There was only an impact to slowly draw out if something exciting was happening. Waiting for an insecticon to finally show its hideous face was far from thrilling.

She sent a painful frequency through the hive to show her disappointment. After that, Hardshell crawled from the cave entrance rather quickly.

See? A little pain went a long way; especially with thick-skulled idiots like her kind.

"Serve me," Airachnid purred and watched as the warrior went prostrate on the ground by the ramp.

Oh, they always moved so quick to do as she said when she herself was nearby. The distance between Earth and Cybertron was going to make things a bit harder in that regard. But Airachnid had faith it would last. The sparks of the hive had synchronized perfectly during her time on this planet. That kind of synchronization did not fade as quickly as a brief hold over a few scouts would.

The kneeling insecticon shuffled. "My queen?"

It was almost fun to watch them squirm in anticipation. But she had no time to indulge.

"I'm leaving." No need to be anything but blunt. Their stupid minds would probably not understand anything else. "But I plan on returning. This hive _will_ remain on track with my will."

Or else humans wouldn't be the only species to feel her bite upon returning.

"I have a score to settle with humanity," she smiled. "They were to be my latest extinct species and certain members made that rather difficult. So while I am gone-"

She paused to think. Not that her mind was going to change; this was her best option if she wanted to act on her personal vendettas and hobby both.

"-you will lead strikes. I don't care where, but don't let the humans trace any of you back to the hive." Airachnid let her voice go soft. "You don't want to end up like Kickback, do you?"

There was a cry of fear that pulsed through the hive. It seemed they remembered that little lobotomized mess the humans had created out of one of their own.

Hardshell shivered, but slammed a fist against his chest. As she'd thought; rather cocky for a drone.

"I will not fail, my queen."

The smile she offered was both a reward and a threat. The femme rose up to depart, but paused to look down at her pawn.

"Oh, and Hardshell? _Make them hurt_." She wanted to return to human misery, to fear, to confusion. It would be a worthy preemption to her latest genocide.

And with that, Airachnid disappeared into the _Death's Head_ and prepared for a flight to a planet she had no loyalty to.

* * *

Autobot Outpost One was far from comfortable. Sure, it was standing (an impossibly rare occurrence among Cybertron's current buildings) and shining, but it didn't have any sort of accessories to make it home. The set-up, with its buildings and a barricade around the omega lock that made Megatron's earlier one look pathetic, was large. The base on Earth was so small it almost hurt to try to squeeze so many bots into.

And Bumblebee knew which one he preferred.

But maybe they could add some flair to this one. A couple painted walls, a whole lot more windows, a race track up along the top of the barricade- yeah. It could end up pretty cool. Raf would like it.

Already he was dreaming. They could set up some sort of dome around the interior of the walls; it could be a little flash of Earth, a little terraformed park.

Although a part of him wondered if Raf needed it. The boy was...nobody knew. Ratchet hadn't taken a close look. None of the rest of them knew where to start. June Darby hadn't mentioned anything out of the norm. But a human shouldn't be able to understand primal vernacular.

Didn't really matter though; there was no way Bumblebee would ever risk him by bringing him to Cybertron without some sort of environmental protection for him.

This was all him thinking ahead though. Right now, they couldn't even start making this base homely. It could still be blown apart by the _Nemesis_ if the cons decided to bridge the warship through and risk the safety of the lock. Optimus had told them he didn't think they would. Knock Out had concurred confidently and it was easy to believe a recent ex-con would know the mindsets of the decepticons.

Which left them with the base they'd used the lock to create and nervous anticipation for _something_ to happen.

Bumblebee let his head bang down on his servos again. He was undeniably bored. It was day two since coming here and the cons hadn't shown up at all. They were staying out of scanning reach and the Sea of Rust had carried absolutely no sounds to appease the scouts that went outside.

The temptation to send another email to Raf, complete with some pictures of their new base and the landscape outside, argued against the worry that at any moment the whole decepticon army would come crashing down on them.

He lifted his chin and let it drop again. Bulkhead glanced over his way from where the wrecker had been attempting to set up a new energon dispenser. The lock had let Optimus build this place with all the essentials. Unfortunately, a dispenser didn't come with actual energon inside it. And last they'd checked, there wasn't much left to mine on this planet. So they'd need to set up some kind of system with Ratchet to bridge energon to them without wasting energon operating the bridge just to bring the fuel their way...? Yeah, it wasn't Bumblebee's job to figure that one out.

"Are you good?" Bulkhead asked. The scout gave a half-engaged whirr.

_"I'm fine. Just nervous."_

The wrecker tried to laugh that off.

"Yeah, me too. But you should see Jackie and Smokescreen."

Curiosity and worry piqued, the yellow mech lifted his head up. _"Are they-"_

"Don't worry about them," Bulkhead interrupted, making his way over to the bland table Bumblebee was seated at. "They're just more bored than you look is all. Jackie has been trying to convince Optimus that he needs to bridge back to Earth and bring the Jackhammer over. And Smokescreen just keeps checking to see if his transmission asking for a ship has been replied to every half a breem. He's worse than Miko after she's made a post on one of her fanboards."

The mention of his human friend made the wrecker go quiet again.

_"Do you think..."_ Bumblebee started after a few moments pause.

Bulkhead slumped. "I'm sure they're all fine. And with the cons focused here again, they'll be safe too!"

It sounded rather half-sparked. He still appreciated the wrecker's attempt.

_"What about you?"_ he asked after another break in the conversation. When Bulkhead perked up in confusion, the scout waved a servo. _"I mean, are you good? You kept pacing over there instead of setting that thing up."_

The other snorted in laughter.

"I'm no good at fixing things up without breaking them anyways; probably safer if I pace instead of touching it." Bulkhead frowned when the laughter had faded. "But I'm worried. I miss Earth. I'm nervous about when the cons'll attack next. And I-I keep practicing bringing it up- I mean, trying to figure out how to talk-if I should-ugh." The wrecker shook his head. "I'm no good at fixing messy bo-"

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a ringing of alarms.

_"The scanners!"_ Bumblebee jumped up. Next to him, Bulkhead rose and transformed both arms into weapons.

"We've got cons, then," he said.

It was kinda sad that it was almost relieving to hear it. Somehow, knowing a threat was coming now was better than waiting for it to arrive.

They ran out from the makeshift rec room to the top road of the barricade wall.

Not a sound was in the air except for the ringing alarm and the pedefall of the other bots rushing out to join them.

They waited. No ship appeared through the dust. No laser fire shot down their way.

A beat of air carried over the wind. Then another. Like someone was waving their servo real fast in the air. If that someone was really big, at least.

Bumblebee narrowed his optics into the orange haze. Nearby, Optimus had the star saber ready and his battlemask closed.

The next whoosh was closer. Louder. And then came a shriek. It was high but guttural, short but so unnatural that it felt as though it lasted longer than it did-

Instead of lasers, something dark dove out through the dust. From the front of the blur came a hot stream of combustion. He jumped to the side and crashed against Bulkhead, looking back to see the floor darkened and crystallized from heat where he and a few of the others had been a moment before.

The blur went overhead and the air cut past them from its force. Then it was rising up again, heat glowing brighter and brighter, and the beating of the air continuing loudly.

Like a...a flap.

It was flapping wings. Bumblebee's optics widened as he looked straight at a creature out of legends.


	54. Snuff The Tragic Dragon

In another world, Knock Out watches Bumblebee's attempts at diplomacy filter into obsolescence.  
In the present, Predaking makes his debut to the autobot team and Optimus makes split-second decisions.

_AN- First two scenes are flashbacks to the RID timeline._

* * *

"I'm worried about this all."

Well that was interesting news. Slightly nerve wracking, but interesting regardless. This entire talk was interesting.

And Knock Out was technically not invited to this talk. Not invited per say, but that didn't mean he was unwanted.

Why would he ever be an unwanted addition to some juicy gossip meeting?

Anyway, he had just been minding his own business, talking with Arcee about good little autobot stuff, when Bumblebee had found her and asked to see her. They'd been so absorbed in their own conversations that it really did seem that neither paid any more attention to his continued presence.

Which meant the interim leader of Cybertron was standing just a short distance away while Arcee sat at a stool and Knock Out sat on the counter where the stools were placed. What? It was more fun that way. And it made Magnus freeze up whenever he saw such behavior (which wouldn't have been on his wish list for things he wanted to do while trying to fit in with the bots, but Wheeljack had given him a shanix for lounging on a table and flirting with the commander when Magnus had walked in; the prize was nice enough, but it was the fact the wrecker wanted to joke around with him that made Knock Out feel secure with acting out like that) which in turn scored him points with at least one of the other autobots.

Enough about him. This conversation he was currently "participating" (ie: listening in on and acting like he belonged all along) in was interesting enough for something that probably wouldn't ever affect him.

"I just-" Bumblebee ran a servo down his face. "I wish Optimus were here. He'd know what to do, what to say..."

Reaching over, Arcee patted the scout-turned-leader on the arm.

"Hey. You're giving it your best. He'd be really impressed," she assured.

Maybe Optimus would even deliver some sort of praise at the job-

It was a nice thought at least. Too bad the Prime was too dead to come deliver on it.

"But nothing I say is working!" the mech groaned.

The current topic happened to be dealing with a rather fragile cybertronian political state. By that, Knock Out meant that all the bots were still slagging panicked over what to do with the two wildcards they were sharing the planet with. It would've been four, but apparently good ol' Starscream had decided to blow the two smaller predacons into little bitty pieces. If that was him being blunt about it, then that summed it all up nicely.

Thanks to Starscream, the bots had two less predacons to deal with.

And thanks to him, Predaking had pretty easily moved his anger to the seeker. Which was probably for the best, since he'd been rather apt to holding grudges over the whole 'kill them all' thing both the autobots and decepticons had engaged in to destroy the fledgling army of predacons on Earth.

And Knock Out knew nothing about holding grudges, no sir. That was more Starscream's nasty little style: grudges and backstabbing and overall impoliteness.

He wasn't holding a grudge at his former commander at all. Not one bit.

"I pitch an alliance, he shoots me down. I pitch a treaty of some kind, he shoots me down also. I don't think he's going to attack me or any of us, but I can't feel safe until I've got _something_."

Really, there wasn't any sort of reward Predaking was dangling in front of the bot? Something to make him feel secure in approaching, something to hint that a treaty wasn't impossible? It seemed hard to believe that there wasn't. Knock Out knew he wouldn't still be bothering with the third party without some sort of hint it was worth it if he were in Bumblebee's place.

Of course, if he was in that position anyways he wouldn't be going nearly weaponless to the gravesite outlook Predaking had claimed as his own; that sort of business was far too risky to his plating, thank you very much.

...so had been trying to fight Unicron instead of taking up Starscream's idea and running far, far away. Sometimes, Knock Out managed to surprise himself.

But this wasn't about him.

"Nothing at all? He hasn't offered anything but you're still hoping to get something official made?" the medic leaned closer and drew both of the other bot's attentions. Acting casual, he gave a shrug. "I'm only curious."

Despite the quick break in talk, Bumblebee seemed to accept the new vocal addition to the conversation in stride.

"Nope." The black and yellow mech laughed, paused as if remembering something, and then laughed again. "Well, he did offer Starscream's arm. But I don't think he was serious."

He went sober. "I think he's pretty attached to holding onto that grisly trophy of his."

Lovely. Knock Out grimaced.

"Barbaric creatures, aren't they?" he muttered.

Bumblebee cast him a sideways glance and a tired smile (but he was always tired; always worn out from juggling one new thing and another while trying to be the forefront PR guy for the autobots in Optimus's absence).

"People, Knock Out," he corrected with a teasing tone. "You're an autobot now and that means calling them people."

Or it did now that said 'people' had shown they could walk and talk.

He took the reprimand in stride, if he could just say so himself. Maybe that was because Bumblebee hadn't sounded hostile at all saying it; if anything, his tone was so familiar it made him feel like it had been a whole lot more cycles than it actually had since this mech had finally accepted his attempts to defect.

And maybe it was because a part of him was shockingly open to hearing anything that would make him into a better autobot.

* * *

The next time he heard anything about it was in the same group.

The time after that was much the same. Arcee and Bumblebee were close, after all. And he had started to become a pretty normal addition to their duo. Whatever the case, the drama was still ongoing out there. Bumblebee was still trying to be a good, convincingly charming looking spokesperson for all the rules and treaties Magnus wrote for him to present to the remaining predacon and decepticon scientist. And, judging by what passed on to Knock Out and Arcee in his de-stressing rants after these meetings, it was going just about as well as it always had (read: not going anywhere useful at all). The interim leader was trying his hardest to extend the proverbial olive branch but his attempts were either met with scorn or anger or ridiculous demands. Arcee would always get bristled up hearing about the way Bumblebee was treated. Knock Out...did whatever it seemed like the two-wheeler was doing. Until the point came where he was comfortable talking without second guessing every single word and-

Well. That point didn't seem to draw any attention. Sure it was still somewhat censored from what he'd say if he was still a con, but Knock Out could dare say he was liked by these two. He wouldn't call them friends because he wasn't sure he could say he had any. Not the way the autobots seemed to. But that was despite the point.

The point was that there was something good here. Because there came the time when Bumblebee had _just_ found _him_. He was off his medical shift, letting one of the recently landed autobot nurses take care of the medbay, when the bot ran across him.

Not long after and they were both sitting standing side by side in one of the _Nemesis'_s empty halls.

"I think Predaking may take off," Bumblebee was saying.

All the better, from Knock Out's point of view. He wasn't a fan of anything large and brute-like being in proximity with him. Insecticons had already been enough to put up with.

"Really?" the medic said instead. "After the big deal you've made about being allies?"

He'd say it was_ too big a deal_ but he had enough self-preservation to know it was better to have the predacon be an ally than an enemy.

Plus Bumblebee had started putting way too much personal stake into getting some sort of alliance out of all the hard work he'd put into this. Knock Out had thought relatively hard on it and came to the conclusion that he didn't want to see the other be unhappy at watching all that effort go to waste.

"He's been insinuating he'll leave for a while now," the mech shrugged.

Also not news. Bumblebee had mentioned those insinuations once. Or twice. Or enough times Knock Out was sick of hearing it.

But he was supposed to keep listening to things even when he wanted to just say shut up. That was the autobot thing to do. And interrupting Bumblebee to tell him to shut up was...well, it wasn't really appealing. It'd save the medic the grief of having to hear about whatever human band he liked or new 'cool' thing Raf had done on Earth or whatever he didn't really want to know; but it meant making a sad Bumblebee and that wasn't what allies were supposed to do. Or autobot allies, at any rate. The decepticons couldn't care less if you drove someone to the brink of insanity by telling them they were wastes of time.

Besides. Hearing the update on this latest drama was entertaining enough. At this point, Knock Out was practically a supporting member of the cast that was _Bumblebee and Ultra Magnus Try To Win Over Angry Dragon Guy: The New Cybertronian Original Soap Opera_. And as with any member of a cast, he was too invested now to want out without resolution.

"Yes, but I thought you'd made good progress in pushing Mag's latest proposal," he countered.

As he'd admitted: he was invested. Who could fault him for paying so much attention to the latest gossip?

He'd always been the gossip center of whatever unit or ship he landed himself on, after all.

"I couldn't even find him at the gravesite or the lab. It took me three jours just to track him down to some cave to talk." With a frown, the warrior continued "-All he wanted to do was rave and threaten and make demands. He even waved that arm trophy of his right in my face. I think he's losing it."

Knock Out snorted. "Please," he said, "-that mech has never had all his marbles together."

Which wasn't much of a useful comment for the mech who'd wasted a good half a solar cycle trying to piece some sort of regional deal together.

"Maybe it was pointless to try as hard as I did. But I couldn't help but think that-that peace and coexistence here would be what Optimus would want. I guess you're right though; I haven't ever made any progress with this," Bumblebee groaned. "This debacle only seems to be letting down now because Predaking thinks it's best for us all if he just disappears into the night."

Dramatic. Knock Out could appreciate the flair.

"I thought he wanted a country here on Cybertron."

A country, an army, the whole slagging planet- it was all seemingly a goal for the ambitious predacon.

"And I thought so too," the other mech said. "But all that drive- it's just...gone. Before, he had revenge to go after. Then he had two other predacons to lead and at that point, you know, he was willing to team up. It seems ironic to say tripling their numbers made them less of a threat, but-" Bumblebee slumped a little against the wall. "I really think it did. I think getting just two brothers made him look past the fact we killed all the others."

When nothing followed that, the red speedster sought for something to say that would lighten the other's obviously unhappy mood.

He settled with: "And then Starscream had to frag everything up, didn't he."

The comment worked. Bumblebee choked on his own laugh and tried to compose himself.

"I'm trying to be serious here," he protested.

The medic smirked. "Don't let me stop you. Go ahead and recommence your torrid fantasies of brute 'diplo-"

"Please stop," Bumblebee interrupted and Knock Out laughed but did as asked.

"Anyway," the former scout shook his head and the humor left his voice again. "I don't know. I don't know what to do about this all. He demands to have Starscream's head, but we're in no position to do that. I've tried to tell him we have no idea where the con went, but he doesn't want to listen. It's like...he can't. He can't bear to hear there's nothing to be done about his brothers. It's so weird. Every time I talk with him, he looks ancient, he sounds ancient, but the way he seems unable to wrap his head around not being able to control how life goes doesn't fit that image."

After a moment, the bot gave a snort of laughter. "You know what it reminds me of?"

Well, that was far from rhetorical and Knock Out knew a prompt when it slapped him in the face.

"What?" he played along.

Bumblebee wouldn't look at him while he answered. The same smile was there, but the way the mech's stare was frozen on the wall betrayed he was thinking far more than he was amused.

"Like Miko when she'd get told something was out of her control." Despite the try at joviality, there was something sober in the air, in the words. "Like a kid."

And for a moment, Knock Out found himself wondering how old the mind of the last living predacon really was: as old as the CNA Predaking was made of or as old as the age of his cloning date?

Leave it to a soft-sparked bot like Bumblebee to bring such stupid slag up and then stress over it.

* * *

_What_ in the _ever loving pit_?

Breakdown had liked Earth. One of the prime reasons for that was its entertainment quality. He wasn't ashamed to admit that (or not much, at least, but he still wouldn't actually admit that to anyone but a select few). The humans made some good scrap. Some of the music was decent, the gossip columns of weird fleshy celebrities were hilarious to make fun of, and the movies...the movies were pretty good on the whole. He'd even been enjoying the slow moving westerns Bumblebee made him watch; the showdowns had surprisingly engaging build ups. But for the most part, he was just familiar with the films he and Knock Out had seen in drive-ins. Mostly really badly made horror, but the variety at drive-ins was present enough that they'd both been exposed to (a bit too much) Earth fiction culture.

The squishies had it surprisingly right a couple of times. They'd named "zombies" before cybertronians had ever seen a moving dead _ala_ Megatron's grand dark energon plan. They'd known that giant sized (from their dwarfed perspective) spiders were always bad news without ever personally meeting the one Breakdown was unfortunately familiar with.

And they'd also seemed to beat him in this area too.

Because they'd already named the thing that was up in the air screeching a dragon.

It just wasn't fair that the humans somehow beat him to the name. At the same time, at least he didn't have to gape up at it forever and wonder what the frag to call that thing.

There wasn't any more time to think about that matter. The very cybertronian looking dragon beat its wings and rose up higher in the air. The thing's head reared back to screech into the sky and then it moved to stare them all down. Golden light was building in its chest. Almost like...

He had to thank human fiction again for the weirdly on point fear that fire was about to rain down on them; thanks to their movies, Breakdown had moved before any of the others.

And whaddya know. It _did_ breath fire.

After that, there wasn't time to mentally complain in confusion. The thing dove and a chaotic battle commenced. The Prime tried to land a hit with the star saber. Breakdown rooted him on to no avail. The airborne opponent weaved between the waves of blue energy and returned the favor with its own attack. Some of the bots ran to the cannons on the wall. Those at least seemed to do something. The dragon jerked from each impact, wriggling in the air and snarling. Sadly, it decided to lunge full at the cannons rather than the Prime. One was carved straight from the top of the wall. Another was smashed down.

Scrap. It really packed a punch when it stepped on things, didn't it?

The creature was tearing at the top of the wall. Flying over it to circle the omega lock. Breathing heat down onto the side of the wall.

"Stand your ground!" the Prime yelled. Autobots fired with the remaining weapons or with their own frame's guns. Breakdown had his chassis mounted cannon out and was shooting at the dragon. It didn't really do anything.

But all they needed was to get it to stay still or something. Then the boss could kill it quick. Or figure out what the scrap it was and _why_. Why it existed. Especially at this unwarned moment. Just to attack them. Like some sort of distraction or heavy lifter or...

Breakdown didn't like that train of thought.

The strange opponent he'd never seen coming did pause then. It held itself still in the air to look down on the breaking defenses.

And then it charged full on into the barricade.

One spark fading moment later and the entire wall began to collapse in towards the gaping hole left behind by the juggernaut.

* * *

They watched from a short distance away.

The new weapon was doing an effective job. It had been told to destroy autobot defenses and take the omega lock. If it should take the relic before destroying the new defense system? Then it was to hold it. And if it only managed to wreak devastation on the base? Then they would do the rest.

Megatron was pleased with what he saw. Shockwave had relayed his commands to the beast and now stood by him to watch the battle occuring.

The predacon shoved its way through the autobot wall and spun to watch the rest fall into the new hole. In a brief moment, it was almost as if the beast were looking through it at its masters where they watched its work. But that was a fancy of imagination; a moment later and the metal structures collapsed in a kick of dust, obscuring any sight of the predacon and its attention.

"Perfect," Megatron muttered the word out and the low whisper of his voice was just as threatening as his yells.

Then the warlord turned aside to look at those behind him.

And it was perfect. This would be his army. He had wanted the powerful and yet the mindless; it was the hope with dark energon to revive an army that felt no pain and no ambition.

The predacon may feel pain, but its power allowed it to continue shoving on. As a beast, it would not ever feel a need to rise up against the programming Shockwave had made it with.

This was power and loyalty absolute.

This would be his key to victory over the last of the Primes.

Megatron could feel his face curled in mirth at that. The expression was still there when he turned to the smaller of the mechs besides him. Their plan was ready. The lock was theirs. Dreadwing had informed him that the spacebridge was ready to be formed. And Earth had been ready for this fate since the moment Unicron's useless husk began to gather dust around itself.

A servo had extended in gesture. The gesture was missed by its recipient, busy as he was glaring at Shockwave. When the warlord spoke, that attention shot solely to him. As it should.

"Shall we go, Starscream?"

The seeker's wings jolted in surprise for only a moment; then he was matching the smirk Megatron wore. The two took flight into the air and tore away.

* * *

This base was meant to protect the omega lock. It was meant to keep the decepticons from reaching it.

And the wall- with its weapons mounted on the top and the protections built by his own mind when he offered its design to the omega lock- had torn apart.

The sound barrier broke high above them all. Diving from the dust overhead, a familiar jet screeched down towards the omega lock. As true to his usual style, Starscream transformed just before he had landed and let himself skid with one servo sliding across the metal before he stood.

Slower than the F-16, a silver cybertronian flyer appeared. Optimus narrowed his gaze at the warlord. Before he could raise the star saber and send an attack at Megatron, the draconian creature crashed against his side. He tumbled away from the sheer force, pushing himself back when a paw slammed dangerously near where his legs had just been. The servo still holding the saber tried to clench tight, tried to lift and swing while his opponent was so obviously in range-

The predacon shoved itself forward before he could grab at the hilt. For its size, it was far too quick. While the earthen avatars of Unicron had been larger, those had moved slowly. It was their weakness.

Now Optimus felt like the one moving too slow. If he could land a hit- a single hit- on either the predacon or either of the decepticons now standing on the omega lock, then they would fight no more. Just as a single blow from one of Unicron's giant avatars would have taken a Prime down with ease.

And just as those giants were too immobile to make good on that advantage, Optimus feared he would not manage to land a strike either.

Claws were scrabbling about, some tearing into the ground and some ripping into him. The Prime could feel plating give and energon flowing outwards. Each cut left searing pain across his frame, but his processor had to ignore it. There were more pressing matters. The creature's neck was golden in heat, preparing to breath molten fire down on him. Pain could wait; he had to move now.

Optimus heaved forward with a growl of effort. The ancient opponent made a noise of surprise as the Prime managed to push it upwards. Its chest rose where his arms pushed- and then he shoved himself to the side. The predacon landed down on its paws again, head swinging to hiss at him. Optimus had no time to worry about that. He reached for the star saber as he moved away from the spot; the hilt was caught up while he made to run.

Someone was laughing. It was a recognizable sound. Megatron.

"Oh, Optimus!" the laugh turned into a call. As much as routine demanded he stop, listen, there was a rather large problem with holding still and that problem was still chasing him; a fact evident because of the way claws tacked over the ground behind him.

His autobots were calling as well. Comms were running, some were yelling.

Out of that chaos, he caught enough: the keys. The omega keys.

And with unhappy shock, Optimus stopped dead to look at the lock where Megatron and Starscream stood. Over their heads, the flat cybermatter was already extended- ready to fire.

The predacon behind him stopped. Megatron smiled. So he was controlling it? Then he had not learned the lesson Optimus had: the warlord shouldn't be hesitating to strike. It was a mistake they'd made many times in their war. It was a mistake of Megatron's that he planned to take advantage of.

The warlord shouldn't be expecting him to wait and listen to whatever prose he'd prepared. He would strike the predacon when it was still and then end the war by cutting down the two leading decepticons.

"Perhaps you should lend a fraction of your attention," Megatron yelled and, despite himself, Optimus looked that way. "I do believe you would rather witness what I will do for our people."

Above the scene, the green of a spacebridge tore open. Instead of admitting the _Nemesis_ or more soldiers, the vortex remained hovering in reality over the omega lock.

"You used this power to build a base so easily destroyed, to try to hoard the key to salvation without using it as it was intended to be-" the call continued. His grip on the star saber tightened in preparation once more. The predacon behind him gave a growl at his motion that could almost be read as a warning.

"But I will use it as it should be: I will use it to offer cybertronians not only one, but two worlds."

And then the position of the space bridge made sense. Then the gloating pause held reason.

The lock would work for anyone who stood atop it when the keys had it activated. It was not particular.

It would fire on Earth without any stall at all.

Optimus had already been responsible for the death of one world. He would not stand aside to watch another fall.

There was an irony there, then- Megatron, the madman that he was, would stop at nothing to regenerate Cybertron if just to create a world in his image.

But the Matrix knew better than to devote all energies, all loyalties, all hopes, into a single planet.

He had been responsible for the death of one world but he alone of the two of them would not be responsible for condemning his race.

Megatron would revive a planet but Optimus would save a people.

The cybermatter in the air roiled. It bulged in preparation to fire and cyberform the planet beyond the spacebridge. Megatron would watch him fail again and it would be the final decepticon victory.

Not all of his autobots would see it the same way. But the Matrix within had made him a Prime and Primes did not hesitate when action was necessary.

Optimus pulled the saber up and forced its fatal strike of energy directly at the omega lock.


	55. What's Wrong With Fleeing?

Despite their somewhat unpleasant introduction, Knock Out didn't hate the his new roommate.

When the other was in a good mood, he was downright enjoyable to be around.

Well. Within limits. Sometimes Brainstorm's 'good moods' were too much for him to take. After all, the only room he had for ego around him happened to be reserved for his own. Too much bragging from somebody else just became a bore for the audials.

Then there was the unfortunate matter involving the unhappy fact that the seeker _was_ more intelligent than him. It was like being cooped up in that lab with Shockwave and Ratchet while they cozied up and shoved him into the role of the errand boy as though they didn't believe he was a scientist too.

Still, Brainstorm may rub in the word _genius_ on a regular basis, but at least he was devoting almost all of his manically unstoppable energy to Knock Out's requested project.

Still, even mania had to get a chance to calm down at some point. Sometimes that had to be enforced. At least the seeker didn't get too annoyed with being dragged away from his work to fuel with the medic.

A bit of a joke, really. Knock Out knew that his own skill in reading mechs was lacking (a fact he'd never have realized until the last few stellar cycles when he'd discovered all of his superb skills in reading rooms was really just him seeing what he'd convinced himself to see), but he was pretty confident in this: Brainstorm would rather be talking about his inventions with someone than working on them alone.

It was relatable, really. He knew what it was like to feel pointless without people. There was no point in being the most talented and sexy mech in the room if no one was around to metaphorically drool at him. Brainstorm could build amoral monstrosities all he liked, but it was only rewarding if someone was around to gape at them.

During one of the energon breaks Knock Out enforced for the both of them, he'd put up with the scientist blabbing on and on about the genius of his latest part of their project for a while and then interrupted to change the subject to something more engaging.

Which was how they'd landed upon the current line of questioning. Mainly:

_what do you most want to change?_

The question was Brainstorm's. The answer was Knock Out's, and it lasted some time. For once, the scientist was the quiet one (an overstatement: both tried to outtalk the other; the medic was far from quiet on a regular basis).

There was an odd sort of interest in the seeker's appearance while he listened; the medic didn't find out why until cycles later.

Knock Out had talked on and on about all the things he'd want to do.

There was just one stalling part of it all. One question that made him blink and sit back in his seat without words.

_do you think anything can be changed at all?_

Apparently there were theories on the matter. Brainstorm had read (and written) quite a few of those; he was rather fascinated by the idea of time travel. The theories differed on what could be inevitable and what proper time travel could or could not change-

All Knock Out knew was that when he'd first arrived on the _Nemesis_ of a different time, he'd felt a surge of panic over that old conversation. He'd arrived the night of Breakdown's death. The night, not a few jours before. He'd ran through the woods listening to the cries and Airachnid's laughter and the creeping dread was there that-

-it'd be inevitable. That all this work and knowledge and development would equate to nothing.

That knowing the future wouldn't prevent it.

* * *

That old fear was creeping in the back of his processor. Knock Out couldn't say it made as much of an impact anymore. He'd already saved Breakdown. If the rest of the war unfolded like it had before, well...what did it matter? The autobots would still win and with no casualties on their part. It was the after-war shenanigans that he was hoping were avoided. Optimus couldn't die this time around. He couldn't get brushed away by the government that would steal in. The autobots couldn't get blacklisted and the old members of Team Prime couldn't fall apart like they did before.

Ratchet, on the edge of the Well mourning the Prime.

Arcee, disappeared into the expanse of space.

Bumblebee, confidence faded away and esteem made fragile.

Laying on the ground with Nuke in his system. Fleeing from bounty hunters because he'd had the audacity to, for once, not change himself, not give up on loyalty to a dead leader and dispersed team, when the balance of power shifted. Sitting across from Brainstorm while the seeker was too busy speaking to drink any of the energon the medic had sat him down in front of.

No. None of that was going to happen again. It _couldn't_.

But among those things that did apparently got to be unavoidable?

It seemed that Knock Out could add "omega lock getting slagged" to the list he'd never be able to share with Brainstorm. Pity. The scientist would be thrilled to add examples to his theories.

Smoke was billowing up from the lock. The blue pool of suspended cybermatter was gone.

All that damage because the center of the lock got hurt. Or cut almost completely in half and left to spark and smoke.

Someone was screeching. The noise carried over the air. Knock Out could recognize the culprit; Starscream had made that noise the last time he'd been watching the omega lock get destroyed.

Still standing on top of the useless relic, Megatron was looking out at nothing at all. It was a vacant expression. It was a silent fury simply because the warlord was too angry to manage words.

It meant, if he were to translate the situation, that it was time to get the frag out of here.

_«Breakdown!»_ the medic commed quickly. With how Predaking had been tossing them all around, he didn't have good vision on the rest of the autobots. Some of them had been on the other half of the wall when the maniac decided to crash through the entire thing and bring it all down.

_«y...yeah?»_ the reply came in with evident confusion.

Knock Out wished he could see where the other mech was at. He shoved his way forward over the rubble to find everyone's location. There was Optimus, still in the open with the star saber pointing at the ground. Arcee was near him, alive and moving just fine- thank Primus- and he caught sight of Smokescreen running for the Prime. The rookie pulled up short when he got closer; he probably had only just now noticed that Optimus and Arcee were not alone. A certain predacon was near them, tail twitching and back coiled as though to spring forward.

Alright, so, he no longer felt any desire to get near them.

_«We need to be ready to get out of here»_ Knock Out commanded. _«Where are you?»_

Up on the useless lock, Megatron finally found his words again.

"You fool!" he laughed, just as he'd laughed over the destruction of the lock last time. It was far from mirthful or even amused. "Optimus, you fool, do you not see what you've done?"

Without answering, the Prime lifted the star saber up to a readied position again.

Megatron pointed at Predaking before Optimus had thrown the next strike.

"Destroy them all-"

The words had barely left his mouth before the predacon had started forward. Knock Out watched as the Prime swung another wave of energy towards the warlord and the con flew from it without a dent. A moment later and the big mech was barreled into. The momentum of Predaking was used against him; Optimus crouched and shoved, succeeding in sending the predacon rolling past him. In the one moment of reprieve that left them with, his voice entered the team frequency.

_«Autobots-»_ the Prime ordered, sparing one glance up to see the stream of flyers releasing into the air from the still-open spacebridge. _«Retreat.»_

Predaking shook himself up to battle readiness and swung his maw towards the autobot leader. Fire glowed in his chest as he did so.

That was enough for Knock Out. The medic mimicked the predacon and shook himself into the moment; then he was speeding away with a message to Breakdown telling the big mech to meet him.

_«Optimus ...»_ Bulkhead sounded hesitant. Knock Out almost stopped at the sudden realization that maybe the autobot thing to do would be to wait behind and help; like the wrecker sounded so unhappy not doing. But Optimus had given the order to retreat. He was supposed to listen to what orders the Prime gave out. _«Retreat to where?»_

There was a grunt on the comm line before Optimus spoke up again.

_«Fall back into the subterranean systems that litter the Sea of Rust. Further plans wi-urhk- will have to wait.»_

A familiar blue vehicle and a yellow muscle-car were in the dust nearby when Knock Out tore around one of the chunks of wall left over. Breakdown! He sped over to his partner's side.

"Hey," the other started up. "What are we going to do? I feel like we should head back, put some dents in that metal dragon."

Bumblebee buzzed in agreeance; the scout was practically shaking and Knock Out thought it likely it stemmed from a desire to head back and 'help'.

Yeah, well, no can do. He'd already had the immobilizer give it a shot (the weapon remained in his subspace after the big fight two cycles before) during the fight before the barricade tumbled down and unpleasantly (though not all unexpectedly) and found it did not in fact immobilize Predaking. The relic seemed to have a limit and a predacon of that size had a mass that could shake off the effects.

"You heard what he said," Knock Out argued.

Both of the others slumped down.

_"It just feels wrong,"_ Bumblebee moaned. _"We shouldn't run. What if someone gets hurt back there? What if not everyone runs in time?"_

_That wasn't their problem_ warred with the screaming stupid Smokescreen-sounding desire saying _be a hero._ Knock Out tried to ignore both thoughts.

"They're going to need a bridge." The medic said it without thinking, but the more he considered it, the more it made sense. "If we get away from the danger zone, we can tell Ratchet what's going on. He can bridge Optimus and whoever else is still around away from Pr-the dragon-" he borrowed Breakdown's earlier term "-back there."

It was all they had.

The three cybertronians drove from the debris and put the sounds of animalistic battle behind them.

* * *

The seekers flew back from their reconnaissance and transformed in front of him to bow.

"They're gone," Starscream said as he rose from his gesture. "Most likely, they'd taken to the underground like the vermin they all are."

Megatron wanted to rage. Wanted them all here now, wanted to hit the air commander for failing to find them. But the warlord kept himself controlled. It was not a failure deserving punishment; no doubt he himself would not be able to track the autobots that had disappeared into the dust of Cybertron.

He mulled over the situation. Starscream dismissed the other jets and came to his side inquisitively. The predacon was watching him with the same sort of air. They all depended on him to find an answer to this problem. Finding nothing of use was simply unallowed for him.

"I will contact Dreadwing," he finally said. "Perhaps finally showing the humans the might of my warship might bring the autobots from the holes they've crawled to."

It meant breaking the secret place they held on that planet. But Megatron had already planned to do so by cyberforming it. Staying hidden meant little to him now. Very little did while the smoke of the wreckage of the omega lock drifted around him.

_«If I may offer an alternative suggestion-»_ Shockwave's voice droned over the commline. The warlord found himself distracted away from his own thoughts to listen. _«There is a better means to finding the autobots, no matter where and when they hide.»_

Megatron flashed dentae. "I'm listening."

The scientist elaborated: _«The predacon is capable of accurately tracking a cybertronian anywhere on this or any other planet: you have at your control the ultimate autobot hunter.»_

_Interesting_. The warlord's grin grew. So the war's end would be a game- a hunting of cowering autobots and their retrieval to face his justice? It had a different flair from the war on Earth and yet carried many similarities.

Very interesting indeed.

* * *

Only a cycle ago, Ratchet had been happy. There was the matter brought to his attention by agent Fowler (an odd strike on a ranching community in central America by what seemed, from the vague reports, to be insecticons) and the unhappy glumness of the other kids, but those didn't manage to damage his mood.

And then panic had exploded all over the comms.

Ratchet was glad he had experience not panicking when everyone around him was. It let him keep his head on straight while he listened to the emergency and waited to act.

Eventually, he had sent a spacebridge for Optimus and received both the Prime and Arcee. He'd informed the team commline that he would be waiting diligently on standby to get any of them out of trouble. None asked how he would fuel the spacebridge every time he used it to bring squads back and forth from danger. A part of him wanted to ask them to stay a while; to deal with the insecticons and the sad humans and whatnot. A bigger part of him knew that he couldn't separate Optimus from the others. It was a stupid idea. So he had bridged them both back to Cybertron, to a location far from where the omega lock had been.

_Had_ been.

Only when they were gone did he let himself address the grief and panic he himself was feeling.

It was gone. The relic was gone. Destroyed by Optimus.

And that meant Cybertron was effectively destroyed as well.

The unfamiliar energy he'd found himself experiencing while staying here on Earth picturing his team reviving the homeworld was gone. The happiness went with it.

Ratchet didn't know that he had ever felt this drained before.

* * *

He'd been tracking the signals for some time. It was a routine of his: seeking out any other autobot alive. Sometimes he found one. Most of the time they died.

A few had left without warning but without death. Though they likely departed with bitter feelings fueling the lack of communication, he was comforted in the mere fact they lived.

Sometimes he found low ranking soldiers on secluded worlds. They were easily brought up to code until their outposts worked as smoothly as they should.

Sometimes he was tempted to stay there.

But such secluded outposts were not going to play any role in the war. Should they be found by decepticons, then a battle would commence but not a battle important to a slowing war. His place was elsewhere. His duty was to see this war all the way through; to see it through to his deactivation or a place alone in a dead galaxy. Neither were admirable fates. But neither was sitting in an outpost as far from cybertronian space as possible just for some semblance of peace.

There was still a chance to avoid all three options. So long as his spark flickered, he would aim for more.

This time could be different. These new signals could belong to more sharpened warriors than the rookies he was used to finding. This new location could be prepared for battle rather than an outpost meant to hide in.

Hope was dangerous. He could only afford the slightest amount as he flew towards the latest autobot frequencies. They'd been picked up 1.3 orns before; the _Iron Will_ had moved at its pace towards what new solar system these latest soldiers locator beacons placed them at.

When he'd drawn nearer to the system, the ship's computers began to get a better map of the system. The signals were originating on a planet of mediocre size. Once its globe had been generated by his systems, the mech tracked where the frequencies were located on the planet.

The answer was complicated. Signals would appear and disappear over the surface. The autobots were likely travelling. One single signal remained steady; that beacon originated from a ship, not a mech: a ship he unhappily recognized.

Still, the life signs may flicker in location, but they remained on the planet.

Until the cycle the _Iron Will_ reached the outskirts of this system. Then all pings from the signals vanished.

It either meant that there had been an instantaneous set of deaths or that every autobot signals but one had gone somewhere that masked their signals. Many technologies could dampen a life sign. It must be investigated.

There had been a massive energy surge before the disappearances. Another massive surge of the same frequency registered from the same system, near the planet's satellite. That too warranted investigation. By the time the _Iron Will_ had entered the planetary system, another surge had spiked from the same lunar location. He'd kept his shields up as he piloted near the moon. Only one corner of the purple warship had to be seen before he'd backed his ship away. Decepticons were here en masse. He would need to keep his guard up.

The singular autobot signal remaining was an older model. One of the frequencies the decepticons had not discovered, so far as intel could discover. It had been designed by Jazz himself and there was little doubt of that mech's ability. Still, he did not like the idea that an old frequency was traceable; decepticons would hold an advantage over any autobot they could track down.

Whoever these autobots were, he would track them down himself. And once he'd found them, he'd tell them to find a way to dampen their autobot signals. It wasn't safe to use them anymore. He'd just have to be the last fellow autobot they managed to get the attention of.

And after that, he'd see to finding out why the other signals had dropped away. The matter of whatever autobot safeplace they'd mustered on the planetside would also have to be addressed. He would need to make sure every corner of their base was up to military code.

The signal he recognized (originating from an autobot ship on the planetside) would be unhappy with that. But Ultra Magnus had never let himself stop vital functioning just because it made another unhappy.


	56. Lullaby To The Lost

_AN- __Some IDW references ahead. Every second scene is a bit of a flashback._

* * *

The spacebridge dropped them back on Cybertron at a location of her choosing.

Optimus had been too quiet ever since the brief return to Earth. He'd just stood there in the middle of the base while Ratchet tore into him. The medic was practically shaking with grief.

"We needed that, Optimus!" he had protested barely louder than a whisper.

It was hard to watch on both their accounts. But Arcee was frustrated as well.

Battlefield decisions were never easy calls to make but they had to be made _fast_. She'd heard it was the same in medical procedures. Ratchet should be more understanding.

They all wanted Cybertron back. But not at that cost. Not through a genocide. Arcee would never forgive herself for enjoying her homeworld if it had come at the expense of Earth. She knew Ratchet felt the same; she knew he would tear himself up every moment he spent on a revived Cybertron- and she knew it didn't stop grief from coming.

With all the hope built up over the omega lock's existence, losing it was losing Cybertron all over again.

Now they were back on the planet. There was no dust in this location. Although they bordered the Sea of Rust, the Tagan Heights seemed completely still. Just metal and rubble in a cruel mockery of what had once been the science capital of the world.

"There's a good base in one of the subterranean levels," Arcee pointed towards the ruins of where a city had once stood. "We're near enough to Hydrax Plateau that the others should be able to get here within a days' driving."

Optimus made a small humming noise. He was frowning. Her spark constricted.

"I have informed them all to fall back on Ratchet for an evacuation should the decepticons pursue them," he said.

The femme gave a frown of her own, looking back over the empty ruins.

"You mean if that thing follows them," she translated. "What even was that?"

It was only slightly surprising when the Prime gave an answer.

"A predacon. The Matrix recognized it," Optimus told her.

She barely even knew the word. Some vague stories when she was a youngling...maybe. Or maybe her mind was just filling in blanks now. Whatever the case, the little bit she did know told her predacons were all extinct.

Arcee decided not to question it. Not so soon after the apparent predacon had handed them all their afts.

"Optimus..." she started up after a moment of silence. "What are we going to do?"

His servo landed on her shoulder comfortingly, but there was something distant both in the gesture and his expression.

"I do not know," he admitted.

And how it worried her to hear such an admissal.

"We should regroup in this rendezvous location you have chosen for us and further discuss options. Our options are not altogether limited. With the forge of Solus Prime, we can repair the damage I did to the omega lock- but I worry that the relic will be found by the decepticons if it has been left at Autobot Outpost One.

There was at least a thrill of hope there. Even if it was currently filtering into dread over the worry that the cons would get it first. The forge was one of the only Iacon relics that could not be kept in subspace and had been in a section of that dome building they'd only so recently fled away from.

"So we'll need to go get it back?" she looked up at him to confirm.

"We will set up a new base of operations here, underground," Optimus nodded. "From the temporary hub, a smaller team will break off to go on a retrieval mission. Another team should remain to be on the lookout for any other strange decepticon activity."

That was it. Neither elaborated on concerns. The full strategy would come out when the whole team was grouped together here.

So Arcee started to move again and lead the other to the tunnel systems she remembered.

Coming here wasn't the best idea, but it was the first place she could think of and they'd been pressed for time to think of a rendezvous point.

Besides, she needed to stop getting caught up in the past. It was far from where things were now-

Wasn't the utter stillness of the Heights, silent and dead, evidence enough of that?

Things had started to get gray.

It was an irony. The Golden Age was far from good, but it at least liked to pretend it lived up to its name with beautiful golden domes and structures. Now that it was over, most of those buildings were either rusted or a pile of rubble. Colors were more and more of a rarity. Everything seemed stained with ever-present soot. It looked a lot like some of the places they were sent to at the start of the war; back then, Arcee had figured those smoke stained messes were a novelty.

Even if they had been (which they weren't; but iaconians were rather sheltered from that truth), there was no novelty to it now. Everything was graying.

Except for the tunnels.

And therein was another irony. The Golden Age wanted everyone to believe that things were better the higher one crawled up from the surface: Vos's spires, towers mecha, the elevated upper city of Iacon, etc. The underground was reserved to miners with no names and crawling vermin. There was nothing colorful or lively or good down there.

Someone had spray painted these walls. Arcee heard one potential culprit getting yelled at by a scientist not long ago, but she couldn't agree with the angry mech. The graffiti made these tunnels into _somewhere_ rather than _nowhere_. The surface was sooty and fire and war; the tunnels were warmly lit and colorful and reverberated with explosions without showcasing them.

She wasn't anymore attached to this system than she was all the other underground layers she'd been stationed at over the vorns, but the femme still found a sense of contentedness when she walked through these halls.

Normally, Tailgate did as well. This cycle, she found him in a different state.

She'd asked him what was wrong rather bluntly. They both tended to be blunt with each other. And Arcee was blunt with everyone. It saved time to be.

He hadn't looked away from his servos. They were resting folded together on a table top in a scrappy little room thrown together as a place to stay with some semblance of comfort. His visor didn't rise away from where it was pointed at them.

"I knew one of them," he'd said. "One of the mech's we're all supposed to have protected here. We were correspondents since early in the war."

And whoever that scientist had been, he was obviously dead. Tailgate wouldn't be acting so subdued otherwise.

Arcee had put an arm over his back and just held on.

Most of the time, they didn't show a reaction to the war anymore. _Most_ of the time. Every once and awhile, a particular death would hit hard. When it happened, there wasn't much to offer the grieving partner.

If someone else had walked in later, they'd have seen the two autobots playing a small holographic game. If they'd come in only slightly earlier than that, they could have heard low words being spoken. There was no cadence in the speaking voice that betrayed the words were lyrics, but their function was the same.

A sung lullaby was meant to soothe. Muttered words and a supporting arm were meant to do the same. So what did a difference in cadence matter?

Alright, so, things had gotten _crazy_ back there. Normally he wasn't one to say no to some craziness, but that was just over the top. Smokescreen kept trying to figure out what had just happened and came up with blank slag. He didn't like blank slag. He liked his thoughts to be exciting, thank you very much.

Anyway, so there'd been this big fight back there and it had gone downhill _real_ fast. This big flying monster had shown up to breath fire and dodge Optimus's strikes with the star saber and overall be a massive pain. Some of the fire had caught the cannon he was currently using to try to blow the flyguy out of the sky and the whole thing had exploded in his face. Now half the paint on his upper body was melted off and it was really hurting. Not that he'd let that slow him down. The cons would have to melt all of him before he slowed down.

Smokescreen was well aware that he wasn't feeling as good as he normally did. Sure, there was the whole pain part of it, but it was more...watching what had happened that had him feeling off.

It wasn't supposed to go the way it did. Autobots were supposed to have answered his call and brought them a ship. Optimus was supposed to use the omega lock and revive the planet. Everyone was supposed to get a big, happy party. Except Megatron and his losers. They were supposed to get a whole can of hurt and either run away crying or be dead. It didn't really matter which.

The lock wasn't supposed to get destroyed. Megatron wasn't supposed to _win_. Optimus was the Prime! He was supposed to win! All the good guys were!

A logical part of him knew that wasn't how things worked. One name proved that: Alpha Trion. The old archivist shouldn't be dead if that was how the world worked. But Alpha Trio had always said Optimus would do it. He'd win. He'd be the hero.

They weren't supposed to lose. The conversation he had with Arcee back in that Earth desert kept coming to mind.

_It's a war, kid. You may have missed most of it while in stasis, but start grasping that now: the cons shoot to kill._

How much did he miss while he was guarding Alpha Trion in relative isolation?

How was it he was only now starting to realize that victory wasn't just some inevitable thing he could take for granted?

Smokescreen was starting to figure that out, but it still didn't...it just didn't...work. Didn't make sense. So what happened today made no sense. And that made the world he was living in surreal.

He didn't like that.

So he sped on.

A little behind where he was racing, Bulkhead was the only other autobot with him. They were both driving on the flattest strip of ground they could find in between two slopes. Or Bulkhead was, at least. Smokescreen was on one of those sides, enjoying the feel of gravity protesting his sideways insolence.

"So. The Tagan Heights, huh? You know anything about the place?"

The green wrecker grunted. "Yeah. Haven't been there, but I knew someone that had. Got a lot of videos showing me around the place, back when there were scientists and people worth being stationed there for."

Smokescreen drove a little higher on the slope until he felt nearly vertical.

"Really?" he prompted for more. It was really awful to just be so quiet. Both because for once he couldn't figure out what to think, let alone say, and because he wanted some sort of distraction from the loss at the omega lock. "Who?"

"I had an old wrecker buddy who worked out there," Bulkhead explained.

The rookie slid back onto the flatter portion of ground and then went up to the other side of the slopes.

"What's their name?" he asked as soon as he felt steady where he drove.

The answer didn't come immediately. That pause made even Smokescreen feel like slowing down. No one could call him dense.

"...he's dead now. I don't like to think about him."

Having predicted it being something like that, Smokescreen didn't swerve or anything.

"Okay," the rookie said with a vocal shrug. "Your call."

They drove on without following that line of discussion any further.

If Bulkhead was to explain why it happened, he'd just have to place his bets on Altus just not knowing. The mech was a part of a different wrecker unit than he was. Sure, they'd all trained together at the start. They'd spent a few missions at the start together. Not enough to get that close, but that was a relative statement; all the wreckers were close at minimum.

Then they'd all split into four main units and from there the system just fractured further.

Bulkhead had been sent off in Ironhide's unit; Wheeljack and Seaspray were with him. There were a lot of others, at the start at least, but it was far from the size they were as one big wrecker army. Altus had been a part of Springer's team, sent out to the Tagan Heights to fight Devastator's spearfronted attack. He hadn't really known about the Stunticons or Squadron X or any of those enemy teams. Sure, he'd known the names. He'd known the way the important facets looked. Altus could point out Menasor by the pictures all the bots had. But apparently he couldn't point out the individual components of Menasor. It wasn't like Bulkhead could blame him. He may not recognize every component of Devastator in person either. Even if he'd seen the pictures, just like Altus had to have known what the Stunticons looked like from the early communications between Ironhide and Springer's teams.

They all tried to stay connected; being a wrecker meant being closer than energon, closer than _anything_. It was the only way to stay sane about what they did. The wreckers became the definers of morality and only those brothers inside the unit could meet those standards. It had driven Bulkhead away, in the end. It had driven Altus away as well. Wheeljack would call them both too soft-sparked for the wreckers. A shame, that, because of how true it was. Much as he was loyal to his old unit, Bulkhead was an autobot, not a wrecker, first.

The team out here at the Heights was one of the first to come apart. They beat off the cons for a long time before they'd drifted. Drifted, at least, not fractured. Bulkhead had drifted, when it came time for him to go join Optimus. Wheeljack had been one of the ones who fractured off.

Altus had drifted. Maybe that was another one of the problems. He'd lost a sense of danger, gotten an idea of conclusion once his job at the Heights concluded. If the war tried to teach bots anything, it was to not be optimistic like that. Somehow, Bulkhead still was. So far it hadn't killed him.

It had killed the teal wrecker though.

Maybe it wouldn't have hurt so bad if it hadn't seemed so personal. If he and Wheeljack hadn't had to watch the whole disaster go down and have their warnings ignored. If he hadn't thought for some moments that there was something holding the duo back, something based in some sort of regret, something to honor the blind trust on that blue wrecker's face.

Whatever the case, it was true: he didn't want to talk about Altus. He didn't want to feel disappointment.

And he also knew he was going to burst if he didn't go to the mech responsible and talk about it. About Altus, about the wreckers, about all the joint hurt in the war. It was the least he could do to honor the murdered wrecker's memory.

It was the only way he could keep this whole thing up without feeling like his head was going to break in two: one side deep in realism and memories and dead faces and the other drawn to the surreal camaraderie of late.

He thought again of the videos Altus sent him long ago. A teal mech with a wide blue face smiling as he gave a vocal tour of the border base at the Tagan Heights. He'd been so full of life, so excited about the new outpost, so thrilled meeting with the scientists he was being tasked to protect.

Bulkhead wished he could go to _that_ Tagan Heights. Not a leveled city that made no sound.

But only a memory offered that city. The present was nothing but rubble and ruin.

The bridge was almost comfortable in his lord's absence.

When he had first arrived on Earth, Dreadwing would've considered any mech saying that thought aloud to be a traitor. Even an orn ago, he would have thought that.

And then he had found the major operations plant of those humans. He had felt the world around him shattering. He had come to a realization about the vehicons of this army.

He had come to a realization about the bridge of this warship:

Dreadwing did not like to be here when lord Megatron was. Those times were tense with danger- maybe not towards him, but any one of the drones at the bridge stations could be at risk. Those times were full of ridicule and pointed insults offered by a real traitor: one seemingly welcomed straight into the army in a way Dreadwing still felt as though he could not integrate. Somehow, the bridge was a battlefield; a place to fight for importance whilst avoiding enraging the decepticon warlord.

But when Megatron and Starscream were both gone, they took that tension with them. Soundwave worked without making a noise. The vehicons were stiff, but they did not seem as fearful as they were around Megatron. Dreadwing was accustomed to fear from subordinates. That was at is should be. As it had been for vorns. As it must be for an army to function. Fear was healthy for subordinates; it kept treason at bay and held comfort. If a leader instilled fear into their soldier, how much more could they do to the enemies that otherwise could kill that soldier? There was a logic to it. There was a reason.

He had lost taste for that reason.

There was a line between striking down treason (which preemptively stopped insubordination) and killing the loyal without excuse. Starscream had no qualms with sliding his claws into any other decepticon. Megatron had nearly killed one of his soldiers and left the vehicon for dead. Dreadwing could no longer blame any of the drones on the bridge for their unhappy nervous edge.

Especially not when he himself felt his frame relax when both of those officers were absent. Hypocrisy was one of his less deniable flaws, but he did try to have limits.

The bridge was still far from comfortable for him to stand at the head of. Giving orders and having no master to look back at for reassurement that he was doing things right- neither felt natural.

It felt better than staying on Cybertron while Starscream played his lord for a fool and Megatron damaged his troops more than he did the foolish Prime.

And for the first time it felt as though he were the second in command. He relayed suggestions to Cybertron, ordered the space bridge open for the omega lock firing sequence when given the command from Megatron, and tried his best to keep the _Nemesis_ in order while he alone (Soundwave kept most functionings in order, but Dreadwing let his position as the 2IC give the briefings and shipwide addresses) led it.

There was another benefit to the current environment. When he was done with his work for the jour, the first lieutenant could slip from the bridge and either meditate in his quarters or visit the medbay.

This almost comfortable state of being had only existed for 1.5 cycles. The second spacebridge he'd relayed the order to open was a part of a failed plan. The failure made Dreadwing's contentedness fade slightly; it seemed likely that this respectful stability would return to its fearful chaos soon.

He put the thought from his mind for the moment being and slipped out from the bridge. Upon nearing the medbay, the seeker could hear more noise than he was used to hearing in this hallway. Quietly, he approached the door and watched.

The patient was alert. His arms were wrapped around the medic who'd been responsible for his continued life. XL-2M99 had his servos clenched on the side of the berth rather than touching the other, but there were two voices laughing in the air- not one. The usual composure was slipping in celebrating, in relief. XL-3T09 was still hooked to his monitors and support systems, but the flyer was talking through the relieved laughs and that was what made Dreadwing feel confident that he'd awoken some time before. His current disposition was too casual for a mech that had only just returned to consciousness.

There was something good about watching a reunion.

Dreadwing backed from the door and continued down the hall with a smile on his face.

The green came later. It was a camouflage painted on after learning what the planet he would be sent to looked like. Earth was a rather green world, after all.

In the past, both wore similar colors. Skyquake's paint was always a lighter shade than Dreadwing's, but it matched the sky he was named after. Or so the story went. Dreadwing had a different story for it; he thought that his twin wore the color of a spark. Of _their_ spark. He rather liked that comparison better. It felt deeper.

They'd been forged for one purpose and went about it together. Instead of being sent to separate clients to protect, the twins were a package deal. It was better for a split-spark to have both halves remain in close proximity. It was better for brothers to know where the other was and if they were safe. Especially in the dangerous occupation they were sworn into.

The threat of death was present for every body guard. Vorns into their lives, it grew; the age of masters and guards had faded into obsolescence with the Age of Wrath and following Golden Age. But their coding remained. And it eventually found a new sovereign. He was a strong mech; a commanding mech; a mech with words like fire and more enemies than any other cybertronian on the planet.

They knew that by accepting him as their lord, they were putting themselves in great danger.

Skyquake had taken him aside one cycle.

"Promise me," the seeker had asked him to do. "Promise me you'll keep yourself safe."

Dreadwing had done more.

"I promise," he'd replied. "And I promise that I'll not let you get hurt."

They were both too old to have been that foolish. But that had not stopped Dreadwing from saying it and it did not stop Skyquake.

"I also promise to keep you safe," his brother had told him.

Vorns later and Dreadwing still had not learned his lesson on promises. He'd sworn to the vehicons that he would retrieve their brethren from the humans and retrieved only corpses. The failure to uphold his sworn word again had made him ill; he could not follow through with his promise to his twin and could not follow through with the drones either.

He had not made a promise to XL-2M99 upon bringing the damaged flyer in. He had not sworn to XL-3T09 that he would survive.

He had not kept Skyquake safe. He had not kept his brotherhood alive. He had not saved the abducted decepticons.

But he had kept a different brotherhood from fracturing the way his own did.

And in that, Dreadwing could feel a small but significant peace.


	57. Altus

_AN- The chapter goes back and forth with flashbacks. Any scene with Altus is a flashback. Chapter warning for murder (offscreen and mostly undescribed, but committed by our main protagonists), the Stunticons, etc_

* * *

Despite being made of strong materials, being larger than any of the aliens he'd run across, and being more technologically advanced than ever before, cybertronians still faced a few natural dangers.

Which was a fancy way of saying that Altus had been an idiot to let his ship drift into the radiation zone of Rkatus IV. But in a small comfort, he hadn't been the only idiot. Another ship, slightly smaller than the one he had gotten as a parting gift from a friend, was visible out the viewport- shaking and jolting as its tech fried. Yup. Just like his. Now his navigation was damaged, the outer shields were gone, and the controls keeping the magfloors on had briefly decided to fizzle out.

When he was done being tossed around the interior of his own ship (probably doing more damage to it than the radiation burst had), the wrecker crashed against the main dashboard and stayed there rather limply.

At least he was alive and well! And his ship was gradually coming back to life- thank the Allspark for autorepair technology.

"Whew." Altus rubbed grime left over from his involuntary trip around the room off his forehelm and let his vents run for some time before he'd determined to move again. That was too close. He hadn't gotten away from the cons at Tagan Heights just to get fried in space.

The other ship out there was shaking from its residual stressors too. Hopefully, everyone was fine.

Altus decided to find out. He told his frame to stop being stupid and marched as collected as he could to his comm unit. Looked to be in working order. Good! The wrecker turned it to short range scanning and sent a query into the nearby area.

A moment later and the stranger's ship pinged back.

Also good. Altus turned his screen on and sent an invitation to call over. It was accepted. The video feed flickered to life.

Even though the ship was smaller than his, it had double the occupants; or_ at least_ double, there may have been more. The mech at the front and center of the screen seemed on the smaller side; he had bright red plating, a spotless white face, and a blankly guarded expression. That was pretty normal in a war though. Altus couldn't blame anyone for being wary. Behind the red mech, a bigger cybertronian was glowering at him a bit. But again- the big mech just looked like he was ready to throw his pal out of the way the minute this stranger started to say anything remotely dangerous.

"Hey!" Altus waved. "Your ship looked like it took a hit there. You all doing okay?"

Both of the strangers cast a glance at each other. The wrecker took that chance to narrow his attention to their chassis's. Hmm. No badges that he could see. And brands tended to be rather front and center. Neutrals? Most likely.

"We're...fine," the blue mech answered.

"Oh! Good-" he grinned. "I was gonna offer you all a ride if need be. I can tow your ride behind mine if your systems are looking particularly bad."

The red mech met his grin with a bland smirk of his own.

"Is that so?" came the purr and Altus had the distinct feeling that he was either being threatened or mocked. "Where exactly would you be taking us if we accepted that deal?"

Right. Probably would've been smart to mention that first.

"I'm headed back to Cybertron. Been away from home a while, but I want to meet some old friends," the wrecker said.

There was another wordless glance shared between the duo. Then the red mech turned to face him again.

"And what faction would these 'friends' of yours be?"

There was only the briefest hesitation before Altus decided to answer.

"Autobots," he admitted.

The blue mech opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but the one in the front spoke again smoothly. "Oh? And are you an autobot too?"

"A wrecker," Atlus said, servo drifting unseen to the weapon systems controls. "Name's Altus."

Instead of flashing disgust or anger or even fear, the mech's smile grew. He looked back at his companion. The bigger mech met his grin with a small one of his own before looking at the camera.

"They wreckers too?" he asked.

His servo sitting on top of the main gun's controls, Altus nodded. "Yeah. Or they were last I checked. But I split off a while ago."

"That sounds rather familiar," the red mech interjected in a smooth voice. "We split off from the war long ago. Too much violence and death. But even neutrals like us can long for home. Isn't that right, Breakdown?"

The blue mech, apparently a 'Breakdown' (a common enough name), grinned.

"If you wouldn't mind," the shorter one looked at Altus, "I think we'd be grateful to take you up on that offer."

* * *

Proximity sensors blared; their noise interrupted Ratchet from his reverie. The old medic jolted, hit his head on the cabinet ceiling he was looking into, and let out a short stream of curses.

Among the chief frustration of it all was the fact that it was an interruption at all. Why couldn't threats take a few jours break so that he could make some progress on his already overcrowded to do list?

Ratchet transformed a servo into a blade, the only weapon he had, and moved to exit into the desert heat.

He'd expected cons, messing with the outer defenses and trying to force their way in. He'd expected insecticons, causing trouble like they had been in different places that cycle.

He had not expected the_ Iron Will_ nor its pilot.

The short blade dropped limply to his side. Ratchet gaped.

"Ultra Magnus?" he asked, more in confusion than disbelief that the mech in front of him was not the commander.

"Ratchet-" was all he got in return, the blue mech wearing a slight frown.

The air went quiet for a moment.

Then all the confusion rushed in again.

"B-wh-"

"I was not expecting you to be stationed here," Ultra Magnus interrupted.

No wonder he was wearing that little frown. The commander was rather against surprises. Ratchet knew enough about him from their millenia in autobot high command together to read that much.

"Who were you expecting?" the medic asked.

Ultra Magnus looked away from him to stare at the _Jackhammer_ where it was covered in camouflage.

Oh.

"My sensors picked up several autobot signals originating from this planet: only this one remains at present. Yours was not among them."

The rest must have appeared on scanners when they were on missions; all those in the base itself would be shielded from every sensor.

Ratchet found himself sighing and cursed the humans for their contagious expressions.

"Please come inside," he waved at the driveway. "I'll get started on explanations."

At the least, Ultra Magnus was a good listener. Too good, in many ways; it was disconcerting to have someone listen with such a stony expression at all times. It gave off the disconcerting feeling that he was being judged and would be receiving a penalty for every little thing he said wrong.

Ratchet didn't have time for such a stupid feeling. He didn't have time for stupidity, period.

So his mood darkened even more when agent Fowler called to yell about the insecticon raids on small towns in central America.

Wonderful.

He prepared to message Optimus while Ultra Magnus sat patiently waiting to find out what the scrap was going on.

Well, when he found out, Ratchet would love to have the answer shared with him.

* * *

The call came a cycle before.

Altus was cheerful, asking for a rendezvous. Said he was thinking of joining Bulkhead's unit and wanted to know if they had room for another.

They'd agreed to meet out at an empty depot. The meeting would be a cycle later, when Altus's ship had entered Cybertron's sky. There was a lull in activity, so why not meet right then? Wheeljack wanted to come with him; Bulkhead was happy for the support and both were happy with the chance to see another wrecker.

A half cycle before the rendezvous, the second call came.

Bulkhead didn't think he could forget the dread he'd felt at getting it.

In the feed, Altus wasn't alone. There were two other cybertronians behind him. All three mechs wore friendly faces. It was unexpected.

He'd told the other wrecker to get away. He'd repeated it, over and over.

Altus had looked confused.

"They're dangerous!" Bulkhead had yelled and hoped the rising panic wouldn't force his two enemies into action right then and there. For once, Breakdown seemed willing to wait patiently. Oh, but the expression he was shooting the green wrecker made his spark stall up.

It was Oxide all over again. It was him helpless to save a wrecker and being forced to bet on the better nature of a duo that had no better nature to offer.

Primus. It was hard to even speak. He worried that saying the wrong thing would cause the situation to escalate downward further.

Altus had frowned, though it was more in worry than anger. "No, no, don't panic. They're not threats."

The frown slid back to being a goofy smile. There were two smiles behind the mech's back, so far from the speaker's innocence.

"Come'n Bulk, stop being so worried."

He'd never known.

He'd never realized who it was he'd let onboard his ship.

He still hadn't known by the time the ship had been hovering over the rendezvous point and Bulkhead had watched the live feed showing him what was happening too high above his head for him to stop.

Wheeljack had joined him in trying to get justice for the death, but they'd failed to get the killers. No matter how often they, or just him, clashed with Breakdown and Knock Out, the duo always survived.

And then the battle at Thunderhead Pass began and Bulkhead had separated from his long-time partner. In many ways, joining with Optimus and leaving the autobots behind had caused him to let go of the most raging part of his hatred. Occasionally, he and Breakdown had clashed again. Where they'd been enemies during the short reign of the combiners, they now were rivals. Bulkhead knew he had reason enough for a personal vendetta. He didn't care why Breakdown thought to continue on like that.

But now he did care.

He had to know. Something, anything.

The tunnels in the Tagan Heights were cramped but at least there weren't many of them that hadn't collapsed. It made it easier for him to track Breakdown down.

Bulkhead hesitated to knock on the wall outside the room a moment. The four bots inside looked happy. They were laughing about something or other. _Breakdown_ looked happy.

The wrecker felt a pang of discomfort knowing he was about to ruin that.

_About what we were saying earlier...maybe there is some scrap we shouldn't always try to ignore. Maybe we do need to-_

To what? Knock Out had interrupted and Bulkhead had never gotten to find out what his rival would've said.

But he knew what he needed. He needed some form of closure. He couldn't just ignore the past.

Altus, Oxide, Brawn, Sideways- and the living, like Wheeljack, who'd been hurt just as bad as he was- they didn't deserve that. For their sake, he had to at least say his own piece.

Even if it meant doing what he'd done a few days ago when he'd talked about the Stunticons with Breakdown; even if it meant making them both uneasy and ruining whatever comfortable camaraderie they might have had.

After the hesitation, Bulkhead steeled himself. He'd been prepping for this. He'd talked with Wheeljack about Altus recently. He'd been practicing bringing it up since then, up until that cybertronian dragon decided to cut in.

At the knock, he poked through the door. "Hey," the wrecker waved at everyone, before glancing at the table between all four bots rather than anyone's face. "Breakdown, can we chat?"

The blue mech had looked surprised and hesitantly peeled away from the others, casting glances at Knock Out as if to figure out whether he was supposed to follow the request. Bulkhead half hoped he wouldn't.

They walked to an empty room, half collapsed but big enough for the two of them to stand across from each other.

"So."

Nothing.

"I've been-"

"I knew-"

Bulkhead gave an awkward laugh. Breakdown was frowning at the wall.

"You first," the other waved a servo and then returned it to where it had been before: arms crossed.

Right. The wrecker fiddled with his own servo and nodded. "I guess I should. Um. So, you know how the other day we got to talking?"

It was a dumb question but it seemed like a good enough icebreaker.

"Yeah."

Well, dumb questions sometimes deserved short answers.

"You said that maybe we shouldn't try to ignore everything," Bulkhead went on. "I mean, neither of us want to talk about it, but there's a whole lot of slag between us."

There was no verbal answer. Breakdown only offered a short grunt.

"Thing is," the wrecker continued. "Thing is, I've gotten used to having you as a teammate. Frag, I've gotten really used to it. But I feel like-I feel like I'm being disrespectful if I just enjoy things the way they are now without ever...without-"

"-addressing that slag," the other finished for him. Breakdown still hadn't looked away from the wall, but his frown was even more pronounced.

"I heard you talking with Wheeljack," he added. "Think I know what about. You gonna save me the trouble or do you want me to bring all the names up myself?"

There was an air of hostility in the way that last sentence was delivered that made Bulkhead's weapons instinctually try to prime. He kept the instinct from occurring.

"I'm not trying to attack you. I just-I need to hear us both at least acknowledge what's been done."

Breakdown looked from the wall to stare at him. "Will you want an apology?" he said lowly. "Will you be able to hear insincerity if I tell you what you want to hear?"

"Scrap-no, that's not...no." Bulkhead slumped. "It'd be great to hear one, but that's not what I expect. I just want-"

There wasn't a clear want to explain. He didn't know how to put it.

"I just want to like having you as a teammate without feeling like I'm disrespecting my friends."

My _innocent_ friends who never deserved to die like they had, he resisted saying.

The other went quiet, returning to staring at the lower wall. Bulkhead let him think, even if the silence felt awkwardly oppressive.

"We were enemies, Bulk. It was personal." It may have been his imagination, but he thought he saw Breakdown slump too. "I don't want to think about it now. I don't know how to."

That was a rather enigmatic response. A bitter part of Bulkhead (one that would always be there; one that would never rest easy in the presence of either defector) wanted to call it a cop out.

"I already told you I don't regret what happened to the wreckers," Breakdown started up again. "Just like I don't regret what happened to the Stunticons. It's a funny thing, Bulk." The edge in that voice sounded like it was far from finding his thoughts funny. "I hated both of them. I hated all of you, I hated all my 'brothers', and the whole slagging feud let me act on that hate. It was easy then. I could just slag whatever I didn't like."

They made optic contact again.

"I don't know how to deal with not hating you anymore." Breakdown said bluntly. "I didn't know how to deal with it when it was you that broke me out of M.E.C.H.'s prison."

It wasn't an apology. It never would be.

The murdered wreckers he'd watched this mech kill were never coming back but never being forgotten.

The best he could hope for was putting some sort of lid on that chapter of their lives.

Bulkhead started to say that when someone yelled Breakdown's name. The blue mech pushed off the wall.

"It's Knock Out," he said pointlessly. "I'd better go."

Really, this was the second time the medic had interrupted them. At this rate, he'd start thinking it was being done on purpose.

Breakdown paused, servo grabbing the doorway as he looked behind himself at the wrecker. "...I want to stay. I want to finish this. If just so it never comes up again."

But he walked away to find his caller anyway.

Bulkhead wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that.

* * *

It hadn't taken all that long. They'd taken the wrecker by surprise, after all. And while Knock Out was quite capable of prolonging things, Breakdown's methods of attacks tended to end things abruptly.

The speed didn't make it less fun. Watching Knock Out fight was always thrilling. Watching his rival look so devastated on the still open video feed was even better.

Life was always about getting power ripped away. It made Breakdown feel like he for once had some control when it was his turn to be ripping power away from someone else.

When it was over and he'd stepped over the various wrecker pieces on the floor to approach the screen, he'd almost been surprised. A part of him had expected the call to have ended by now. It was the only control over the situation Bulkhead would've had left: the wrecker couldn't stop them from killing the one called Altus that he and Knock Out had spent half an orn travelling with, but he could stop himself from watching it all in real time.

Oh well. All the better that he'd stayed glued to the scene. It meant Breakdown could chat.

He grinned and felt drying energon on his dentae from where it had sprayed there.

Bulkhead had glared.

It...it was actually almost chilling.

"You didn't have to do that," the wrecker finally spoke and his normally loud voice was so quietly even.

"Nope!" Breakdown agreed with summoned glee.

It didn't send the green mech into a wild screaming fit. The one at his side, Wheeljack, also seemed to be experiencing his fury with unnatural tranquility.

"But you did," Bulkhead went on. "You did and we'll never forget it. You're going down. Both of you are."

Knock Out chuckled.

"You shouldn't have done it."

His smirk became a sneer by nature.

"I'm winning," he grinned. "I'm a score ahead of you, Bulk."

The wrecker lost his flat fury and cycled through various expressions.

"See if you can gloat like that after I make up my 'score'," Bulkhead finally growled. "See how you laugh when it's one of your brothers that's dead."

Oh, did he think that was a threat?

"I'd have to give you a thank you, in that case," Breakdown said. "But someone better beat you to it."

And he was glad about that.

No more Motormaster, bringing him down. No more brothers, watching him fall and mocking that weakness.

No more of anything but what was best in life: running around, free of obligation, with a mech he owed everything to- the mech that was so much better than he deserved, who'd practically built this frame for him, who'd given him confidence when before he didn't even want to be looked at while he fought- why stop at the frame? Knock Out had practically built _him_.

He felt no lost love towards the brothers he had hated.

Didn't he?

Breakdown only thought about that again recently; only dragged the questions up because the wrecker kept dragging names like Viscosi Ridge or Altus up. Bulkhead dredged up the past and, in light of the last few orns, Breakdown had started to too.

He didn't stick on thinking about the wreckers for very long.

His mind apparently wanted to think of other mechs. If he was going to find regrets in the past, find something disgusting in his history, then the wreckers hardly made a showing.

It was the Stunticons.

Every time Bulkhead said a long forgotten name, Breakdown started to think about them. And the more he did, the more they disgusted him.

There were two parts of that disgust, though. The first was what they did. They'd hurt him many times. He'd gotten used to that hurt until Knock Out had come and offered something different. Remembering what they did to bots had lost a lot of its hilarity too. Killing bots had lost its entertainment in his mind in general- he'd gotten too involved with the ones around him, gotten in too deep- but remembering it done by his former brothers seemed especially needless. Breakdown wondered if that's how he viewed himself too then: if, instead of thinking about the wreckers he killed and wondering how he felt about that now, he thought of the ones the other Stunticons had killed. If the distaste he felt towards them for it was really a distaste he felt for himself.

They'd never shown an ounce of guilt when they'd tear a bot apart. He knew he didn't really either; not in the traditional sense, anyway. But now (he thought of Bumblebee trying to force him to listen to human music or Bumblebee listening quietly while he tried his best to talk about that night in M.E.C.H.'s lab- a kid in some senses, more mature than most others in another, and altogether not deserving to be ripped apart) he hated them for what they were when he thought of the times they'd murder in a frenzy-

and what did that say about himself?

The second half of that disgust was also new. Before, he just tried not to think about the Stunticons. Knock Out didn't like him to bring them up. If he did think about them, it was with a whole lot of hate. Too much bad blood between them. There was no mourning for what he'd 'lost' by getting away from those slaggers. Because that's what they were to him at the end. At the start? That was too long ago. He couldn't say. He remembered the group at the start only vaguely. A bunch of miscreants shoved into Shockwave's labs in order to be made into weapons for the glory of the decepticon army. They'd been easy picks for the cons.

Breakdown had been a petty thief and arson. He'd lived in a home once, before the enforcers had come and dragged his carriers away. A small court had given him his new lot in life. Breakdown hadn't stayed. The new job was demeaning. He wasn't ready for responsibility. He felt every insult to his clunky looks and ability cut deep down. Eventually, he'd stopped wanting to even be seen. If no one could catch sight of him, they couldn't find reason to mock him.

So he'd disappeared into the streets and remained in the shadows. Stealing started out of necessity and morphed into something else. It was his way of repaying the past. The world thought it could mock him? How did it enjoy having its windows smashed and goods taken and floors burned?

Then Megatron had appeared and offered hope to every destitute like him. Motormaster appeared and had a commanding air and the promise of greatness; his form, in its amusing mockery of the Prime's body, was like the dark shadow of a religious figure. If Breakdown really thought back on it, he would admit to being impressed at the start. He'd been street vermin and now these grand mechs (he remembered gaping up at Megatron for the first time in person, kneeling under the pale lights of a lab, Shockwave remaining coldly apathetic at his master's side, Motormaster taking him in with a greedy gaze with every appearance of a false mystical figure- but it was Megatron who stole all attention: silver shining, spike ornamentation threatening, face littered in scars, blazing optics, and that _smile_ ...that smile promised greatness and stroked a new fear inside every part of his then-small frame) had treated him like he held promise.

He hadn't realized there was no choice involved. There was never a choice within the Stunticons.

The others were just as easy to pull in.

Heatseeker had been a part of the mob. A lowlife that was so low on the chain of command that his fellow mobsters left his sorry aft behind when an operation had gone through.

It had appealed to him. He'd been forged outside the caste but the mob had offered a place to fit. Out of them all, the gestalt seemed to almost work with the bigger mech.

Wildrider had been in and out of prisons since the cycle he came online. The mech had been glitched for as long as he'd functioned, but he'd been made for the streets- and the streets had no pity on the insane.

What made up his motivations, no one knew. By the time Shockwave had refitted him for a gestalt, there was no chance in getting something rational out of him. His mind was a colorful mess but his energy and nonreactions to pain meant it was easy to direct him into a fight.

Dead End had been both homeless and employed. Not legal employment, by any means, but he'd always had a good looking frame; what did flaunting it matter if it meant fuel and nuke?

Maybe at one point, the mech had ambitions and drive. The mech shown to the rest of the gestalt had nearly nothing- and what he may have had was gone within the first few stellar cycles.

And Motormaster was...an unknown. Breakdown never found out how old the big mech was, never found out what he'd done before the war, never found it if he'd asked for the Stunticons or if they'd been forced on him.

All he knew was that he hated the giant. He hated him for taking everything, for ruining what was good in the gestalt, for driving the life away from each of its members until they were pale caricatures of the mechs he'd first been introduced to- mimicries happy to watch him torn apart and apathetic to any loyalty that wasn't twisted.

He'd always figured the mech wanted that. Motormaster appeared older than any of them, appeared suited and practiced in decepticon command. He suspected that he'd been a mech with a vendetta against the Prime who never made it as big as he thought he would and asked for an experimental gestalt made of mechs too young or unstable to resist his molding.

The best thing Knock Out would ever have done in life was tearing that con apart.

But at the start he hadn't hated him. He hadn't hated any of them. Even after their sparks had been fused and birthed Menasor and their presence began to devour every part of life-

All the hate that built up after that left the start without the perspective it had at the time. Now, Bulkhead was trying to dredge things up that he shouldn't and Breakdown was doing it too.

He wondered what they'd been like before the Stunticons. He wondered if they'd been dragged by the Golden Age away from a real life at as young an age as he had. He wondered if they'd spent their vorns of petty crime feeling chaotic confusion like he had.

They were too old to be considered anything but adults by the time the war was even threatening to start, but had they ever known anything but the streets? Had the decepticons really just tracked down the most unstable, dependent street-trash just to manipulate them into an even more unstable batch of killers?

Breakdown still didn't want to be an autobot but...he was really starting to hate the old decepticons.

So a bunch of mental wrecks had thought it was fun to torture and kill and were rewarded for the violence; and he was left here, for once in his life thinking about them and wondering if they could've ended up being more... _good_...bots.

Disgusting. These thoughts, his old gang, the idea that they'd been designed to be disasters- that maybe Bulkhead hated him for reasons he should feel towards himself- ugh.

There was only one bot that could answer his confusion.

Currently, that bot was talking with Bumblebee and Arcee where they all sat around waiting for the Prime to finish his call with the grumpy medic on Earth.

He may have been yelling for Breakdown to join them moments before, but he seemed to be doing just fine on his own.

Only a few orns ago, that would have made him feel panicked, feel worried he was losing Knock Out, feel like grieving the end of an era.

He didn't know why he didn't anymore. Maybe the era really had ended and he'd stopped worrying so much in its ending now that it was past. He didn't know.

He was so sick of not knowing.

"Hey, Knock Out?" Breakdown interrupted. Bumblebee and the medic glanced his way. Arcee busied herself in the relics they'd been checking over; she was probably trying to be tactful or something. He found that he appreciated it.

"Yes?" Knock Out asked.

"Bulk was trying to talk to me before we all get sent out to do something, and I just-" he shrugged helplessly. "We're trying to figure out how to address, you know, our history. You and me and his. I don't know how I'm supposed to..."

To what?

To react?

To feel?

Was he supposed to be mad to get personally singled out for old occurrences or supposed to feel guilty for the things he'd done to solidify their rivalry or _what_?

The conversation from a few cycles ago came to mind again. It had-

_made Breakdown feel inadequate when regret over what happened at Viscosi didn't come and..._

_A bunch of other feelings he really couldn't put a name to._

What were they?

"I'll talk with him," the medic said.

Wait.

That wasn't an answer.

Breakdown frowned. "What? Why?"

"Because he shouldn't be harassing you like that. That past is over. We regret it-"

they did?

Oh right, Knock Out had turned into a model autobot at some point. He'd gotten so used to all this that he'd forgotten his own confusion in the apparent morals the medic had grown overnight.

"sincerely and that's that."

Behind him, Arcee rearranged the relics again. Breakdown felt uneasy knowing that everything being said was being heard.

Maybe that's why his partner sounded so clipped, so insistent on saying they were good, guilty little bots trying to pay penitence- he was trying to show off or stay out of trouble or something.

Or not. He couldn't tell. Knock Out didn't tell him.

"But-" he started up, feeling the need to stop this from getting brushed away. He needed answers, not dismissal. He needed something to soothe the inadequacy and uneasiness hearing about the dead and thinking about the Stunticons brought on.

"It's over-" came the interruption.

And apparently, so was Breakdown's part in speaking.

"We've left that behind," Knock Out said stiffly. "It's done, we're different. End of the story. Bulkhead should stop trying to live in the past and he shouldn't try to drag us both back to join him in that."

He really did want to agree with that. He'd been the one to say as much to Bulkhead the last time they'd had a talk about the war.

But he'd also been the one to say that maybe they did need to address what happened back then.

He trudged back to where the others were without complaint, even if he still felt unrested, still felt unhappy, still felt at a loss for how to live like Knock Out wanted him to.

How was he supposed to live in the moment when the past had him so confused?

* * *

_AN- In answer to why Altus didn't recognize Breakdown as a Stunticon, 1- it's a decently common name (an idea I got from the IDW, which has two unrelated Breakdowns), and 2- he only knows the Stunticons from the database and the pictures of Breakdown there show him in a smaller frame. Chapter 15 makes mention of Knock Out modding him up (or buffing him, in a manner of speaking)_

_While it will never be said in the story itself, Motormaster here is not actually much older than the other Stunticons, similar to how they are all the same age in most continuities._


	58. Split Up, Meet Up

The news really didn't surprise Ratchet. He'd rather expected it, honestly.

Ultra Magnus did not understand. Well, the commander would be catching on fast. This team of theirs operated differently from the autobot army and a large part of that difference was them being rather tactically stupid.

The medic stepped back from the screen where he'd been contacting Optimus and uttered a sigh down towards his pedes. Perfect. Just absolutely perfect. The spacebridge was going to be activated for, what, the fourth time since its creation only a few cycles ago?

He decided to use synth-en on it for the incoming team's return trip.

He'd be using it for a test run before that point, of course. Ratchet wasn't stupid. He wasn't about to have three new bodies left on his track record.

Maybe he'd ask Rafael for help. One of the human's small vehicular toys could be an effective stand-in for a cybertronian to test whether the bridge would cause some detrimental problem to the bots in question.

"Did you receive orders?"

Ultra Magnus's question brought his attention back from the synth-en question.

"They're fighting a war over there," the medic looked at the other. "Apparently, the decepticons have a new sort of weapon they're using: a predacon, according to Optimus. But he doesn't want you to be sent over right now."

It was almost funny to see the small expression of surprise on the famously stoic mech.

"Ep, ep-" Ratchet interrupted whatever questions would've come. He wasn't finished. "He wants you here to help deal with the human's issue."

"The...insecticons?" the commander said slowly.

He nodded. "The insecticons exactly. Not on your own though, don't worry. Optimus wants me to bring back three of the others to aid you."

The little surprise was still there, but was morphing from blank confusion to dissatisfaction.

"But that does not make sense." Ultra Magnus frowned. He gestured at the image of Cybertron still on the main monitor. "Splitting members away from our planet's mission is unwise. Why do it for small scale insecticon activity here?"

Ratchet couldn't help but give a sardonic laugh.

"Because it's happening on Earth. And Optimus likes to prioritize the humans here over our home."

It sounded bitter and he knew it. He knew Ultra Magnus didn't like hearing complaints about Optimus either.

It was harder than normal to keep a cap on that bitterness lately.

Being sardonic was his best way to cover his current upset at the war.

* * *

The surface of the Tagan Heights was quiet.

Optimus did not think such a state would remain for long. With whatever new plan Megatron was enacting with the living predacon at his disposal, there was little doubt that the still of Cybertron would be upended.

A small part of him found the inevitable action preferable to the dead quiet of the planet he had failed.

There was no telling what the decepticons planned to do with the predacon at their disposal. It seemed evident that this lifeless landscape would soon be the set for another battle.

In small relief, there would be no civilian casualties here. Megatron had seen to destroying every civilian that once lived here, after all.

When he had directed the Ark off of this world, Optimus had not believed he would see it again until the means arose to clean the poison his former companion wrought in every part of this planet. Now, they both stood on the surface of the world their feud had killed.

But Megatron was going to learn how this time would differ-

Optimus had no civilians to worry about here to get caught in the crossfire. He had no living world to worry over keeping battles from devastating.

He had nothing to hold him back and desperate desire to end this war propelling him further.

In his effort to retake this world, Megatron had sown his own downfall.

But there were complications. A Prime expected nothing less.

Their current complications were two-fold. First was retrieving the forge from the ruins of their briefly-held outpost while a predacon and the decepticon leaders stood in the way. Second was the information sent by Ratchet not long before: Earth was suffering the aftershocks of the war he had brought there. Insecticons, no doubt under Airachnid's lead now that her enemies had left the planetside, were striking at human towns. Striking down human lives and livelihoods.

It was his responsibility that any were even on that planet. So he would not turn his attention aside and allow that threat to continue.

He spent a short time meditating on the issue before he summoned his team together.

They were far from an army, but their numbers and strength had grown in the last stellar cycle. He was very proud of the autobots they had become.

Arcee acted as their spokesperson, stepping closer to him. "Optimus. What's the plan?"

She acted as that bridge many times in the past; it was a role that fit her. The two-wheeler would make an excellent lieutenant.

Much like his current lieutenant, who had apparently made his way to Earth.

"As you know, the situation on Cybertron has grown grave. Likewise, Ratchet has informed me that Earth is undergoing an emergency as well- an emergency our presence brought about and one our presence will have to rectify."

He looked back to Arcee, taking in how she waited for orders.

An excellent soldier indeed.

"Arcee," he said. "You will help me on Cybertron; we will be retaking the forge, by whatever means necessary."

She looked unsurprised. He moved his gaze to the others he would call on next.

"Bulkhead, Smokescreen- you will go with us. The decepticons will likely use their predacon to slow or stop us. With your combat experience, Bulkhead, and your skill in misdirection and speed, Smokescreen, your aid will be quite useful."

The rookie started to utter a low noise of excitement. He pretended not to hear the lively glee.

To the remaining autobots, Optimus turned next. Knock Out straightened up when his gaze went over him. Wheeljack frowned.

"Bumblebee, Knock Out- you will return to Earth to end the insecticon rampages. Breakdown, will you accompany them?"

The blue mech stalled for only a moment at his request. It should not have been surprising; Optimus had agreed to treat him as an allied neutral, not an autobot.

"Uh," he glanced at his partner and, confusingly, Bulkhead, before answering: "Sure thing, boss."

Good. The Prime nodded once before looking at the one remaining autobot.

"Wheeljack, I require someone to remain here and run interference for both teams. It seems likely that the decepticons will be able to discover our temporary location here. In that case, I need a capable fighter to hold them off and escape to a new safe location; it is necessary for our Earth-bound team to have one such bot ready to tell them where to bridge back here safely."

The obvious anger at being told to stay back seemed to ease from the wrecker's expression slightly when told he had been chosen for his capability as a warrior. In truth, Optimus would have put Smokescreen in that position but he worried that the rookie would not be able to resist abandoning the job to chase after battle. Wheeljack was only slightly less likely to do so, but the Prime had faith in his age proving to result in more maturity than the young elite guardsmech would show.

"When the beta team has cleared Earth of threats, they should return immediately," he continued. "Are we clear?"

Various levels of enthused responses met his question. Optimus gave another slow nod.

"Then let us move out; the future of both worlds is ours to secure and protect."

* * *

The distance between the ruins of the omega lock and Tagan Heights was not significant. The autobots drove over rubble and gray metal with full knowledge that their journey would not take long.

The flat build of the Sea of Rust would not do well to hide them. It would be necessary to wait by its rare cliffsides and observe the area they planned to infiltrate. Decepticon activity, signs of the warship, the lone predacon- all must be seen before a suitable plan could arise for their journey into the ruins to succeed.

The autobots were not the only cybertronians scouting for their enemies. Standing atop the ruined omega lock, tail swinging behind it, the predacon looked out through the dust. Only the loud seeker had sought to mock it for this, proclaiming it was a 'broken toy' wasting its own time by staring at nothing but dust. Shockwave had assured the others that it was not broken. The predacon enjoyed its creator's confidence. The words of the seeker, it could do without.

Its yellow gaze narrowed. Its tail twitched again.

They were there. While the weaker beings it was allied with could not sense them, it knew the enemy was there. Its gaze could cut through any dust. Their energon signatures littered an otherwise corpse of a world.

While Arcee lay on top a plateau and scanned through the dust for her enemies, the predacon did the same for its own.

* * *

If anything was most surprising upon reaching Earth, it was the gun staring at their faces.

Well, that was a familiar rifle. Knock Out recognized its making and knew who to expect was holding it even before he refocused his crossed optics from the barrel of the gun to the mech holding it.

Behind him, Breakdown was bristling up with a growl. Oh, bad move. Very bad move-

Bumblebee whirred out a glyph of confusion, lifting his servos in surprise or placation.

But Knock Out made the first move, desperate to keep Breakdown from doing anything stupid towards one of the autobots least likely to forgive the littlest slip ups.

"Wait!" he cried out, lifting his own servos just like the scout had. He pointed one at his chest, digit tapping his brand. "We're allies! Autobots!"

_"We're here to help!"_ Bumblebee chirped.

Magnus's narrowed optics followed his gesture and widened at the sight of the badge. The gun dipped every so slightly.

Thankfully, Ratchet had seemed to decide now was a good time to step in.

"He's right," the older medic crossed his arms, looking up at the commander with an expression that could only be read as _unimpressed_. "I told you who our team here was."

"Thank you, Ratchet," Knock Out flashed him a smile that only seemed to repulse his older counterpart. It was rather amusing, really. _And thanks for keeping mr. trigger happy far away from his guns before the defectors could come through_, he wanted to add. Through great strength of will (read: intelligence and working survival instincts), he resisted. "We're all friends here, I assure you."

Finally, Magnus let his rifle drift down to pointing at the floor again. The slow, halting movements showed he wasn't all that convinced. Or maybe he was just confused and trying to compensate for the fact that he didn't know what was happening by keeping the biggest frown he could muster on his face. Who knew with Magnus.

Well, if he wagered to guess, he'd bet on the confused angle. Some autobots happened to act a little spastic at the sight of red optics after all (despite the fact that some autobots also used that color lens); it wasn't that surprising to find out this guy was one of those.

Knock Out watched as Magnus's brows contracted.

"'We're all friends here, _sir_," he corrected stiffly.

Ah yes. What fun _this_ was going to be.

He moved to make his winning smile again, this time directing it at the commander and watched the stoic airs fail to cover the revulsion.

* * *

June Darby ignored the clammy feeling making her hands stick to the wheel of her car.

It was mid-afternoon and she'd only recently gotten off her shift from work. When the nurse had checked her phone, she'd gotten a bit of a surprise. A few minutes later and she was calling her son to ask if he had plans that evening. Jack did. Which freed up the rest of her afternoon and early night to dealing with her unexpected communication.

It had been a rather unexpected email.

_Unexpected_ for a few reasons.

First of all, she'd never _talked_ with the author. There was a rather severe language barrier between them.

Secondly, he was supposed to be gone. All of the autobots were.

Not according to the message though. Apparently, a few were headed back temporarily. She wished it would be the original trio. Arcee was one of the family now. Bulkhead and Bumblebee were a part of the family at base. And she wouldn't say no to having Optimus return. Earth felt safer with him there.

Still, she had nothing against the ones coming by. Her disappointment was just because not everyone was coming. It was obvious that their absences were upsetting the kids. June had told Jack to invite the other two over the previous day for dinner after school and she'd watched how they all acted so subdued with this abrupt departure of their friends.

Third, the contents of the message were just odd. Part of that came from her inability to have expected words from this particular mech. Part of that came from how strangely human the request itself was. She felt like she was being dragged to an intervention for a friend or her child.

It had began with a simple: _Miss Darby_ (there was no comma or even a question mark, as though the author wasn't sure what to put there and left it blank)

And the rest, as followed, made her feel a mixture of confused and uneasy and amused.

_Hi! Hope you're all good_ (well, the mom voice in her wanted to correct)!

_This is Bumblebee. I know, I know. It's probably weird, not hearing Raf speak everything for me (tell him I said hello, will you?). But I can't just have Raf with me all the time helping me talk with the rest of you. And it's you in particular I was hoping to speak to._

_See, Optimus is sending me back to Earth for a while with Knock Out and Breakdown. We're supposed to be dealing with some con activity, so it seems like we'll be here a few days. I've already told Raf about this, so I'd be surprised if you all didn't already have the news spread around_ (apparently, Raf wasn't as likely to spread things around as his cybertronian partner assumed, June mused).

_Anyway, the point is, we'll be there and you're on Earth so it just works out. I was hoping you could help me out with something._

_I've been worried about my friend Breakdown lately. He hasn't been acting right. He's just been going along with whatever Knock Out wants to do, but he looks unhappy about it sometimes. I don't like it, but I don't know what to say. Or do. Or anything related to this._

_When I opened up to Raf about it, he told me he suspects you know what that position is like_ (oh, that little rascal. That observant, intelligent, rascal.) _so I kinda felt like maybe you would know what to say to him?_

_Only if you're okay with it! But I'd appreciate it a whole lot. So maybe while we're back on Earth for a while, you could come help me out? Not that we'll be able to work together smoothly while we can't talk to each other, but there's still got to be something we can do. I hate to see him feel like he can't stick up for himself._

Honestly, what did Bumblebee expect her to be able to do?

June didn't know.

What she did know was how to talk with other adults about dependency and guilt and broken dynamics. She'd talked with some of her friends in nursing school and later those she'd met at work in Jasper about similar situations. She'd talked with friends of her own when it was her dealing with some of those issues. She'd noticed interactions and body language from the neutral cybertronian nurse that made her suspicious, but never felt trusted enough to speak with him or Knock Out about the observations.

Interventions always needed a soft touch and shouldn't be continuously forced if the recipient didn't want to hear any advice; she knew that well. So, clammy hands under a steering wheel and confusion over heading back to the autobot base for such a human problem or not, June was going to go and try to be support for all three of the bots involved in this latest situation. It was better her than someone who wouldn't understand how to handle the sensitivity at all.


	59. Intervention Of Concerned Acquaintances

_AN- A bit more cussing (human) than typical, a bit more violence (human) than usual, a brief mention of sex (also human). (getting a chapter theme here?)_

_Dialogue heavy in the last chunk._

_I needed a human bystander surrogate for the opener and ended up choosing a character from the IDWverse. This should be her one and only cameo chapter, so don't worry if you don't recognize her._

* * *

Shit.

There weren't many words to explain what was going on. Both through her head and the world around her.

So she settled with _shit_ and it repeated like a mantra.

A building leveled near her- glass exploding outwards, the thing, whatever the hell it was, screeching too loudly, stone blowing out over the road. Verity danced away from the debris with a shriek of her own.

Normally, she'd hate herself for uttering a sound like that; it was completely embarrassing to go around squealing like some thriller movie character cliche. Well, screw that. There was nothing embarrassing about panicking when there were literal monsters crashing everywhere around the town.

Besides, everyone was screaming. And running and a few tried to bunker into spaces like trash bins, but enough of those had been crushed to kill that option for her. So her only goal was getting out of this disaster zone.

Her plan had always been to ditch the place. Queen Creek was close enough to Phoenix that she'd dropped here for a rest stop, sleeping in some rundown motel outside the actual city's downtown and managing to snag an ipod that someone left peeking out a loose pocket. The real scores were going to be found in the big city, not here (no matter how rich people had to be to score a place here).

Maybe the big city wasn't being attacked like something out of the apocalypse right now. Maybe she should've ditched the motel idea and skipped over Queen Creek entirely.

Or maybe the whole crazy world was blowing apart too. Who knew? Certainly not any of the little humans screaming as they ran this way and that without a true escape plan formed in their addled brains.

It was just after Verity had gotten a hold of that ipod that it happened. She'd been humming a bit as she walked down a sidewalk, shoving her new find into the pockets on her shorts and keeping her attitude casual whenever a cop went by (it was always annoying when they side-eyed her, like a truant or something, just 'cause she happened to look young enough to pass as a high schooler); really just overall having a decent day. She'd grabbed an apple on the way out of the motel, bought a burger at some cheap place when she was getting near the outskirts, and was just pretty much thinking she'd be free to find a highway and hitchhike to Phoenix without any sort of hassle. And then a cop had drove by, sirens blaring. Verity resisted the urge to duck into the nearest shop. Another cop drove by seconds after. The fire department was in quick pursuit. Cars were shoved up against the sides of the road, traffic crawling, the general driving populace trying to recover from the emergency vehicles. The faintest noise came over the clogged, traffic-filled air as well-

Not just sirens. Bangs. Loud, loud crashes that were far enough away to be faint little noises in the breeze.

Whatever survival instinct she possessed started to crawl faintly in dread. But at that time, there was nothing concrete enough to warrant panic.

That justification came when the crashes got louder. When smoke started to rise up in the eastern air where all that noise was coming from earlier- black smoke. Verity knew enough about urban survival to know black smoke tended to come from good old manmade things burning. Like, say, cars or buildings.

The delinquent started off towards the west at a far brisker pace. She made it to the official downtown area before hell had really broken loose.

A building to her right had been there. And then it hadn't. Twisted metal, shattered wood, industrial glass, and dust (so much dust) shot over the street; the debris hit more cars than it did the people on the sidewalk behind those cars, but it did its damage. The dust that blew by didn't feel irritating; it was excruciating. A million little particles stabbing at high speeds through the air and over bare arms, bare calves, bare face. The baseball cap she'd favored for the last eight months shot into the building at her left before she could register it was gone, pushed by the force of the air. A piece of a door had grazed the calf of a woman walking in front of her and the next thing Verity knew, that woman had no leg. No solid-one-piece leg at least. The bystander's purse hit the concrete with a thud that somehow sounded more audible than the screaming starting around her.

But the screech-

She turned away from the damage done to so many unlucky pedestrians and the building pieces strewn all over the sidewalk in front of her; she turned away from what seemed unlikely enough to look straight at the impossible.

If she hadn't been facing forward the way she had, all that dust blown out from the crushed building probably would've kept her eyes from seeing again any time soon. As it was, she still tried to blink back the particles making her eyes smart and all those new ones still being carried over the street because obviously it was their fault she was seeing things.

The shape crouched in the ruin straightened up. It was already large, but standing on legs made it huge. What had to be claws were flexing. A dozen jagged teeth the size of her arm arranged like a macabre smile adorned the head. Things that reminded her of shrimp legs or something twitched about the giant mouth like a-like a bug-or

It threw its head back and screamed out a warbling sound that was _just not Earthly-_

And that was when Verity ran.

She hadn't stopped running. Ten long minutes were stretched out in panic and destruction that should have left her body too worn out to move but instead just forced it into an exhausting state of readiness. Other people were scrambling about, slipping down alleys to hide, climbing walls into the housing complexes, running between cars that had no room (and in some places, no road) to drive. The metal monster had friends and it seemed like they were _everywhere_. They could fly. The shits could fly. Why? Ask someone else who wasn't busy trying to get out of this disaster zone. After ten minutes of running, things seemed to calm a bit. The crashing wasn't happening nearly as constantly. There were less people around screaming. There were less people in general. Survival instincts once again let her know she couldn't think about that right now.

The creatures prowled about. Verity had herself plastered to the ground of what seemed to be a bike shop, one hand on a windowsill so that she could prop herself up and peek out at the street. There was smoke everywhere. There was rubble everywhere too. And there were two of the monsters prowling around; their footsteps made the ground reverberate. Nothing should be big enough to do that. Nothing nothing-

It turned out they had lasers. Guns. Whatever. When they made a combination of screeching metal and confusing visual smooshing of some sort, they came out looking even more like airborne bugs. Had the government been experimenting on mutating insects or something? Didn't matter. The spear point result could shoot and that just spread the danger of the situation. Fires bloomed from laser shots, trash bins and cars combusted, shops with their fronts torn open were shot into. Verity snuck out of the bike shop as best she could and ran once more.

The quiet lull was almost worse than the mass panic. Where before it had been hundreds of people running around and noise levels were off the comprehensible charts, that break had only let it be more obvious that there were monsters prowling around; feet shaking the ground, screaming nullified and humans hidden so that she had started to feel overwhelmed with the thought she was alone in surviving-

At least when the lull ended, Verity could tell there were others around. No one liked the feeling of being alone in the apocalypse. Buildings returned to being smashed, crushed by massive stomps or by the bugs flying down to crash on them. Some exploded from being shot, some from being punched in, some from having cars tossed at them. Debris was in the air, rolling on the ground, narrowly missing hitting her while she ran like hell for what she thought was the direction closest to getting out of here.

The ground started to pound worse. Its movements were betraying a gait- a stomp, stomp- something running- running closer. The asphalt's movements made her legs act as useful as jelly, tossing her run into a trip, a roll, and failed attempt to get up and spring in a straight line-

The warbling scream came from behind her, probably a good distance away but loud enough to make her want to cry. She wouldn't really have the time to be embarrassed about that; no more than any of the rest of panicking civilians could worry about the piss staining their pants. All there was really time to worry about was the fact that

she was going to die

And she didn't even know why, because there was no explanation at all for the sudden attack of the giant metal monster bugs.

As suddenly as the first of them had crushed that one shop, a new madness started up. A giant green flash flared up in front of her. The human tripped to a stop, arm lifting to shield her face from the sudden light, eyes deciding against following the arms smart choice and peeking open to look at it.

It was huge. Went taller in the sky than even the monster bugs behind her.

What in the-

A leg stepped out. Its darkness appeared through the blinding light green, followed by another. A body. Not just one. More legs stepped from the green, big metal feet things landing on the damaged ground. A yellow humanoid, pointing bright blue things that she just could tell were guns. A shiny red one next to them, pointing some sort of fancy stick. A bigger shape hulked behind them, something shaped exactly like a hammer waving down by its legs.

And in the front was the biggest of them all. Tall stacks rose where shoulders would be, taller than she was. Who even needed shoulders that big, a hysterical part of her questioned. There was an undeniable gun in its hands, carried there calmly. Hell, the entire thing, guy, robot, whatever, looked calm. Even as it lifted that weapon, took quick aim at the monster on the road behind her, and fired earsplitting shot after shot at it. Five times of firing and the gun went back to its calm position in the big robot's arms. It looked down at her without breaking any stride at the fiery chaos around.

"Be on alert," the big one spoke. "There are surviving natives."

She gaped up at them wordlessly. So the monster bugs had struck and now the robot police were here? Here without warning, just 'flash' hello! we've teleported, now stay down little native.

They had to be aliens. All of them were. Aliens were real and had decided to pick Queen Creek as a place for a smackdown and she was somehow still alive after witnessing just part one of this fight?

Verity's mind pieced together another _shit_ and then promptly passed out.

* * *

Ultra Magnus had been informed about the situation on Earth. It seemed that autobots here were tasked with protecting the native life forms: humans. Optimus Prime was very adamant about keeping as many of these humans safe as possible; as such, he had sought to keep the war hidden. The strategy was to stay hidden-

_"Robots in disguise!"_ the scout Bumblebee had called it.

-from humans and, in doing so, keep them from becoming caught in crossfire.

Evidently, this 'robots in disguise' business was going to be of no use in the current situation. Not unless they wanted to drive around the insecticons and hope that would somehow stop them.

No. Ultra Magnus had been given his orders. He would protect human life. And that meant not going at half speed. They would go in hard and fast, strike at the enemy, and clean whatever traces of them remained. The humans would see them. That was an acceptable price. Trying to maintain the obliviousness of these organics would only lead in more of them dying as the autobot response team would fail in truly and effectively neutralizing the threat.

With the mission and goal set, and drilled into the minds and memories of these recruits, he authorized the bridge to the current place of emergency.

Their arrival came with two quick observations:

One: the location they had been sent to was already quite damaged.

Two: there seemed to be many humans that they would have to watch their steps around.

The first native he saw gave him that impression. Knowing his protocol was to save as many lives as he could here, Ultra Magnus dropped down to cup the human when it dropped. A malfunction brought on by shock, it seemed. Certain cybertronians could do the same.

He stood up again, ignoring how the alien was already starting to move again, and looked around for a suitable place to drop off the survivor. A relatively intact human shed seemed suitable enough. Ultra Magnus let the human slip off his palm through the half open ceiling and left it there.

"We will usher the natives we see towards this perimeter," the commander said when he turned back to the others. "Keep the fight away. Coral the insecticons to the east and box them in best you can. Letting the environment play to their advantage is a critical mistake; I do not want to see any one of you making it."

Bumblebee whirred an acknowledgement. Knock Out threw a salute he wanted to reprimand as being flamboyant if it somehow hadn't managed to be so textbook sharp.

The Prime would probably say something inspirational before sending the mission on. Ultra Magnus was well aware of what he lacked compared to Optimus Prime.

"Split up," he said instead of trying. "Keep your comms on; Ratchet informed me that your human liaison here will be wishing to direct us."

Which he would allow gracefully; this was human jurisdiction. Ultra Magnus knew the laws on jurisdictions.

They started into the city carefully. No matter how damaged it was, their arrival seemed to have precluded a still. Besides the one insecticon that had continued crawling down this wrecked roadway (which he had quickly dispatched), there was very little obvious sign of the enemies. The commander frowned. He needed to document how many of the insecticons there were before battle started in earnest; doing so meant that he would count the corpses they left behind and confirm that all were dead.

"Set attention on observation first," he spoke into the commline Ratchet had sent him to use for this venture. "We must tag our targets and know their numbers."

He took a few more steps into the alien settlement. Fried metal remained glowing a deep orange even after the heat had gone from them. These molten glows provided a dim lighting throughout the ruins, contrasting sharply with the pale yellow solar lighting that made it through the thick smokes.

It reminded him mildly of Cybertron. Organic or not, cities hit by decepticons all burned the same way.

A dull thudding beat through the air. Too rhythmic and slow to be insecticon wings. Whirl had been in his unit for some time. The sound seemed akin to that mech's altmode.

A human helicopter, then. The human database of knowledge suggested so.

_«I've got you, big guy»_ came a voice he did not recognize. Ultra Magnus put a digit to his audial.

"Repeat?" he ordered.

The stranger's voice, to its credit, did as told.

_«This is special agent William Fowler. My boys and I are airborne: we can count up the cons for you.»_

The human liaison, then. Ultra Magnus returned both servos to his rifle with a frown. Trying to engage in combat with alien allies was normally more painful than truly worth it.

"Negative, special agent. Keep your distance."

It came a little late. The dull olive helicopter was already nearing him. He magnified his focus to see the human he would be working alongside of.

_«I'm guessing you're Ultra Magnus?»_ the alien said.

As he had no doubt seen and spoke with all the others on Earth, the question was little more than rhetorical.

_«What's your plan, lieutenant?"_ this Fowler asked.

His plan was to rid this sector of its insecticon scourge and inspect the state of his troops while he was at it.

"Search out and address the living humans," he ordered. "Direct the survivors towards that perimeter-" Ultra Magnus pointed to the border they had arrived at. "We will push the fight to the east."

The helicopter lifted into the air.

_«Copy»_ came the human's voice.

Alien or not, at least the agent knew how to acknowledge orders without question. Now to see if the autobots here could do so much.

Ultra Magnus continued his press over the city. He did not proceed through it; there was not enough to warrant the thought he was going through one. No building was high enough. Most no longer stood.

_«Sir!»_

That was Knock Out, sounding as bright and eager as some sort of cadet rather than like a decepticon butcher. It was surreal. _«I see four insecticons at my location. Permission to engage?»_

There was a shuffling ahead of him; perhaps a quarter of a click away came an insecticon of his own. He let his digit rest over the trigger of his rifle.

"Special agent," Ultra Magnus spoke quietly into the comm, keeping his optic on the strolling vermin. "Do you have a quantification?"

There was a short pause before the human's voice crackled over the channel. _«My boys have twenty-seven spotted.»_

Good. He nodded to himself.

"Engage at will, Knock Out," he permitted and the battle broke loose.

* * *

Ugh, insecticons. They were the worst.

Really, even after all his time post-war learning how best to act like a good autobot proclaiming freedom for all (Bumblebee especially being on his case about being respectful to all life forms, as he remembered from their conversation anytime the other bot returned from talks with Predaking), Knock Out still couldn't think of any sort of redeeming quality for the vermin. They were big and nasty and stupid. If they were between him and danger, he supposed he didn't mind them. If they were actively planning on scraping his paint, well- that was a different and far more common story.

The medic let the holo-shield dug out of Magnus's reserves take the hit from the last insecticon on the scene. The hexagonal shielding pulsed with effort but held. Hah. Take that, stupid brute. Hitting harder didn't always work.

With both of the insecticon's arms hammered on the shield, Knock Out let his staff stab from the side. The prod slid into the abdomen of the con and the voltage slid over its every visible section. The insecticon let out a screech and fell haltingly to the ground.

A perfect take down. Knock Out let the shield flash back to the gauntlet and stepped over the hulking form to take his staff back.

The smoking excuse for a city was even more levelled now than when they had arrived. It was easy to spot the others over the rubble. Helicopters beat in the air.

Ultra Magnus was looking out in the direction of most of those helicopters. They hovered over the western perimeter the commander had set up before the fight.

_«-trust you have the infrastructure for these survivors?»_ his voice was saying. Fowler gave a response that was finished by the time Knock Out had finished walking up to the others.

With a nod, Magnus left the commline and looked over his three 'troops'. The medic made himself go ramrod in attention rather than his usual preening lounge. Getting onto the commander's good side would mean far less trouble for him and Breakdown.

"Are all twenty-seven enemy bodies accounted for?" the big mech asked.

Bumblebee nodded.

_"Yeah. We-...yeah."_

Maybe the scout was a little intimidated in the presence of the autobot 2IC. Magnus certainly had an atmosphere of constant judginess.

Magnus gave a satisfied hum before glancing his and Breakdown's direction.

"Autobots," he addressed the group whilst seeming to just target him. "What course of action do we take following a decepticon sterilization on a inhabited alien world when we are allied with the aliens?"

Bumblebee glanced between the others, as though trying to figure out if he should give the answer. Somehow, it was no surprise that the scout knew what proper protocol would be. He had ended up as Cybertron's impromptu leader for a while last time (and done a good job at it, though the new government refused to admit it).

But this was a test and a race to the right answers at that. Knock Out happened to enjoy winning races.

"We are to leave this to the native authorities, unless told otherwise by a high ranking commander."

He could've laughed at the slow blink that recieved.

Oh, yes. He could parrot the code back any day. Not word for word, but enough to make Magnus blow his gasket.

See, back in a separate lifetime? This guy had sat him down every cycle to go over the entire autobot code and then subsequent treaties and laws. It was excruciating. Reading the stuff would've been bad enough, but Magnus insisted on talking about each little section extensively.

Had he mentioned it was excruciating? Optimus seemed like the type who gave off happy praise and sad disappointment when a mistake was made. Magnus was the type that wanted every rule drilled into each cybertronian until they had lost all passion to do anything but follow robotically. It had almost been enough to drive him off (but not really. He wanted to be a bot that Optimus could be proud of for a reason and that meant learning all the rules of a model autobot).

"...that is correct."

Honestly, he almost sounded painfully disappointed. Knock Out couldn't stop the smirk growing.

Oh, he had blown those expectations far, far away, had he? The little decepticon so new to the whole autobot thing showing that he was actually worthy of being a bot?

"The mission is over," Magnus turned away from them all and a groundbridge opened in front of him a second later. Knock Out was snickering while he walked towards the bridge, although he managed to get his face back to neutral respect by the time he and Breakdown had caught up to the big guy.

He made it into the base before the commander had loomed over him in an obvious desire for the both of them to step aside.

"Who taught you the finesse of the code?" Magnus asked as soon as they had stepped away to the first corner nearby.

The answer was rather hilarious. Knock Out kept his expression from betraying the hilarity he felt.

"I read it here on Earth during my probation period," he answered instead of the truth.

Which, ironically, was breaking Article _"something or other",_ Paragraph _"no one needs this",_ Footnote "_for the maniacs that actually look at footnotes"_: don't lie to a commanding officer.

The commander's optics had widened.

"Your knowledge must be surface deep then," Magnus said. "The full extent of the law cannot be understood in so short a time."

Knock Out's smile grew painfully wide.

"Try me," he couldn't stop himself from daring, "-sir."

* * *

Originally, he was going to trudge after Knock Out when the newest commander had cornered him.

Instead, Breakdown found himself standing against a rocky desert wall listening to the most uncomfortable conversation of his life.

Living with the Stunticons had made that bar pretty high.

But Bumblebee and the human nurse had managed to spring over it somehow. Probably took the bar crashing down with them too.

It started when they'd all first gotten back to the Earth base. Ultra Magnus had gone over to Knock Out and started talking lowly with him. Breakdown waited a little bit away, and started to follow them when the duo headed over to Ratchet's work area. That was about when Bumblebee had tapped on his shoulder and gotten his attention.

_"Hey!"_ the scout said and, despite the attempt at inflectionary glyphs, it sounded subdued in a way that made him on edge. _"While they're busy, you want to come talk with me?"_

'Me' had apparently meant the scout and the fleshy nurse. June was waiting in the hall. She glanced up at their approach and offered a smile.

The _on edge_ apprehension grew because clearly they were up to something.

They'd settled with going outside the base because it seemed relatively private out there. After the talk began, Breakdown started to be glad for the extra privacy. After the way Knock Out had reacted about Bulkhead and his attempts to work through the past, Breakdown wondered if his partner would always get that way about any semi-uncomfortable conversation topic.

Or fragging awkward topic, in this case. But he would rather not have Knock Out come yell at the other two. They really seemed earnest about it all. He didn't want to see them verbally blasted anymore than he'd let anyone else try to yell at Knock Out himself. It was an unspoken agreement they shared.

But anyway, back at the start of this mess. Breakdown had found a nice enough cliff to lean against. Bumblebee had stood across from him. The human stood next to the scout, looking tiny. She started.

"So. Breakdown, how have you been lately?"

Pleasantries? Weird.

"Um," he frowned. "Good?"

June smiled again.

"That's good news," she said.

Getting sentiment from a fleshy was still weird to him. Silas had left him more uneasy around them all then Breakdown liked to admit to himself.

But it was fine. These guys at the base, they were fine. They were. In fact, he'd been more uneasy when the nurse was in Airachnid's grasp than he was when she was next to him acting like she was going to pat his leg or something.

"And...you?" he tried, feeling a little at odds with this apparent touchy-feely they were having.

Bumblebee looked down at June the exact moment she looked up. A moment later and she'd pulled one of her little human comm units out of her clothes and looked at it.

_"Sorry,"_ the scout laughed placatingly. _"We have to do human messaging to talk with each other."_

Little fleshy digits typed away on the tiny numberpad.

_"Listen, Breakdown, I..."_ Bumblebee hesitated. _"I've been a bit worried about you ever since that incident with Soundwave in the woods."_

He frowned lightly.

"I already got my dents pounded out," he started.

_"No, not because the fight-"_ the scout interrupted. _"Because of afterwards. Just...your attitude, the things you said- it started making me concerned. You just let Knock Out dictate what you were gonna do."_

Wait.

What the slag?

The human frowned at the unit before letting it slip back into her clothes.

"We're just both concerned," she said. "I've had my fair share of experiences with people who I find myself obligated to follow even when I don't want to, and it's not healthy. It's not sustainable."

If her voice hadn't been so cautiously soft, he probably would've snapped at her.

If he hadn't been so confused after the orns of watching autobots interact, he probably would've been completely blind to what both were saying.

"I don't know what either of you are talking about," Breakdown lied. His arms had moved to cross as though the extra bulk in front of his chassis would deflect some of this awkward conversation away.

_"You didn't want to be an autobot,"_ Bumblebee said.

He shifted uncomfortably. Sand slid down his kibble and crawled between plating. Lovely. That wasn't something he missed about this dirt ball.

"It worked out, didn't it?" he replied.

June was looking intently at her little communications device during that, but put it aside again.

"But did you choose to do it?" she asked bluntly.

Should've figured. Nurses didn't like to make things all soft forever. There wasn't time for that scrap in an operation.

"That doesn't matter," Breakdown deflected.

There was a moment of silence while the other two seemed to digest that. Then June gestured at the ground.

"Let's all sit down. I want to tell you a story, Breakdown."

By great strength of will and legitimate curiosity over the possibility of getting answers for recent confusion, the blue mech slid down to his aft. Bumblebee slumped down as well and the human sat on his offered palm.

"Do you know anything about how human families function?" June started, leaning herself forward over crossed legs. He grunted, letting a smirk cross his face briefly.

"Knock Out and I have watched a lot of movies," he said. "Pretty sure we've picked the basics up."

Sometimes, too many of those basics. But those more unpleasant exposures didn't stop him from wanting to go to more.

It was just something nice and mundane and entertaining to go do with Knock Out. Before the warship had picked them up, they'd gotten to do a lot of those mundane, entertaining ventures.

"That sounds like fun," the human smiled. "Did you both want to go?"

He shrugged.

"Yeah. We like them."

As though always prepared for this change of subjects, June continued: "Do you have a favorite genre?"

The nice thing about human film was the amount of options. Cybertron didn't have any options at all anymore.

"Action." He grinned. "Knock Out likes horror."

And he had a bit of a weak spot for the romcoms that would sometimes play at the drive-ins they'd be near, but he didn't want to mention that. Knock Out was always rather uncomfortable in those movies, so they tended to stay away.

June laughed freely. "That sounds familiar," she said once finished, but the laugh was still vaguely in her voice. "My ex-husband and I used to share that same pastime. He also loved horror flicks." June screwed her expression up. "I hated them."

This conversation was much better. It felt far less targeting than whatever they were trying to pull a few minutes ago.

So of course it had to drag itself back there.

"I used to watch them though, even if they disgusted every part of me," the nurse went on. "I used to watch everything Seth, my ex, would put on. Not because I liked his tastes or even because I was trying to trade off fairly with our separate picks every movie night, but because I felt like I needed to pretend I liked them."

Huh. Breakdown's earlier amusement fled again.

"The sad part is, there was nothing wrong with watching whatever he put on for his sake," June continued. "I would've wanted him to do the same for me. There's a big difference between saying I hated his taste and pretending to like them. Strike that balance, and we could have traded off on those mundane things like what to eat, what to watch, what to wear. Be supportive yet realistic. But I didn't find that balance when I was young."

She clenched her hands on her knees. Breakdown listened joylessly without the spark to interrupt.

"I didn't notice that it started that way, but by the time we were engaged, I felt like I had to go along with what he wanted. I felt like that's what I'd do if I loved him. I was used to having to do everything for myself and I just didn't have the means to support a life like that. I wanted someone else to lean back on. When I entered a serious relationship with Seth, it was my third time. I didn't want it to drift away like the other two relationships had. I _needed_ a steady support. So I thought I needed to make everything work perfectly smooth and that meant being of one mind, all the time. When he wanted me to dress up, I dressed up. When he wanted to sleep with me and I wasn't feeling it, I mustered false enthusiasm. I don't think Seth ever realized how much of me was a lie. Maybe that's just me wanting to think better of him and blame myself, but I really don't think he deserves all the blame I give him now. But it's hard for me to think that way. Do you know why?"

The question hung in the air. He ended up shrugging. June's lip quirked down.

"Because all that going along, pretending not to care how I let myself get stepped on, pretending that saying my interests were in the slightest unaligned with his out of fear it would scare him away- it poisoned what we _did_ have. It's been fourteen years, which I realize isn't much to you-" she tried to joke, before moving on "but that's almost a third of my life so far. It's been that long and I'm still bitter. What started at first because I had no confidence in our relationship holding up if we discovered we were different turned into frustration. I felt pent up. I felt used. What used to be attractive turned into loathing. By the time I realized that I needed to start making a life of my own, things had gone too far. I had no friends of my own; all my friends were his friends. I was in nursing school, got pregnant; I needed his salary and mine to support me through to the end. He would ask me to do something that I didn't want to and I thought I knew I had too, and he never realized how upset I was under the surface; and that failure to see me on his part just made the frustration build and _build_."

Breakdown thought of dark red plating turned to sickly green, of his own stupidity back then on matters he now thought himself smart on, and looked away from the others to the horizon. The horizon didn't look so worried and careful and damned sentimentally stupid.

"I know at the start I loved him, or the idea of him as a steady, attractive support in my life at least." June smiled, but it didn't meet her eyes. She shook her head, looking down at the gray servo she sat on. "It turned itself into hate, but that wasn't all it did. When we separated, I was alone. No friends that wouldn't side with him because they'd all come from him to start with. No house because we'd agreed he would keep it. No family because I hadn't had one I could rely on since I was as young as my son was at the time. I had all these goals for my life- I was going to be a rich nurse, in a fancy house, with a loving son who adored me on my own, and friends at my beck and call. And as soon as I tried to live it out, I stalled up. I didn't know how to. I didn't know how to function on my own."

_What did you do?_

He wanted to ask it. But somehow talking felt like that would reassure them both and suddenly they'd be trying to tie this lovely little story to him when it was _not applicable_ at all.

"Bumblebee tells me that he sees you dropping everything to help your partner."

Damn it, they were gonna tie it in anyways. His engines growled lowly in defensive need to drive away now.

"You came to this base because he wanted to. You haven't squished me- which I appreciate- because he's said not to touch the 'humans'. Am I right?" June didn't seem to wait for a response for a rhetorical question. "You want to work things out with Bulkhead, but feel the need to defer to Knock Out first. This is second-hand information for me, but it makes me uneasy. I've seen it before. I've done it before. And pretending to always agree with someone you want to care about leads more often to hurt than it does good. It has nothing to do with that person being worthy of care or not; they can be a literal angel and it still won't be worth it- not because they are manipulative per se but because you aren't letting yourself be an individual person. And trying to force that individual self away is stifling, damaging. Sacrificing who you are until you're him- you're his-"

"The frag are you going on about?" Breakdown interrupted.

More sand was slipping through his plating. He realized uncomfortably that he was pressing himself tighter against the wall behind him. His pedes were dug into dirt in a way that betrayed how he was pushing himself back.

Bumblebee looked sad.

_"I like him alot too, but I want to be your friend. Not Knock Out's Breakdown. You. The guy I talked about scars with outside the medbay when Bulk was hurt and introduced westerns to and..."_

Something twisted hard, hard, hard-

Breakdown couldn't keep looking at the scout.

_"And I wanna be his friend too! But not as a prerequisite for being with you. You shouldn't feel like he has to or can drag you away from your friends unless they're his friends first. It's just. It's not fair to you."_

The twisting let up, constricted again, loosened. Without realizing it, his vents came on. They blew dust gently away from where he was seated.

"I don't...I haven't..."

_I don't know best_

_I don't chose best_

_He does_

Oh frag.

Frag, frag, _frag_-

"We just want to make sure you're doing alright," June said. "We just want you to know that there's a better option than always following someone's lead. If we're dead wrong, then I think I speak for both of us by saying we're sorry for insinuating this. But if it's a little bit true, then we wanted to let you know that you have people to speak with about this."

Breakdown let out a noise between clenched dentae. He forced his servos to unclench, forced his head back towards them.

Thought about the patch over his optic. Thought about the excuse he gave Bumblebee for its presence.

Thought about trying to hide the past with Bulkhead. Thought about how hiding didn't bury the way it made them roil inside.

Thought about everything he tried to shove aside or lay on Knock Out as a burden the medic could pass judgment on.

"I...I don't know. If I wanna talk. I don't think you're- I think you're both wrong but...I see some of your point." His optic fell on the sand in front of him. "About coming here. I...was friends with a lot of my troopers. I know their names and hobbies and even the other vehicons they want to frag. But Knock Out up and took us away from the cons without giving me any sort of heads up. Now I'm on the opposite side of the war from them and never even got the chance to give them a heads up."

June and Bumblebee shared a worried look.

"That's exactly what we meant," the human said softly. "You don't get the chance to make bonds of your own or decisions. I know you think that's what you want, but you didn't want to leave those friends...did you?"

Something felt hard inside his tanks. Breakdown wanted to run away from this.

"I-it's not-no."

It hurt so bad to admit.

"No. I didn't want to leave them. No offense to you guys, but. I had reasons for being where I was."

He was mad at Knock Out for not considering those reasons.

He wasn't supposed to be mad at Knock Out for anything.

_"Have you told him?"_ Bumblebee asked, leaning forward. Breakdown resisted the urge to shove himself backwards even more. He resisted the urge to lean forward into the comfort the scout was offering too.

"I have- a bit. I've been too distracted this whole time," he frowned. "Knock Out was acting so oddly when this all started. He second guessed everything, acted so distant. I hated it. I just wanted to go back. We talked about it before Soundwave attacked. I think- I think we did get to go back to normal a bit after that."

"...and that's better?" June asked. She sounded legitimately surprised, perhaps unsure. He wanted to laugh at her- shove that as proof, say they'd all been stupid, he liked where he was with Knock Out, he did-

"I don't-"

_he wasn't supposed to bother much with thinking anyway-_

"It hasn't felt right," he admitted, finally letting himself scoot off the side of the wall and a little closer to the other two.

"Then tell him that," she said. He paused mid scoot.

The human nurse tried to look apologetic. "At least try to. You've got to start putting your fo-pede down. Stand up for yourself."

He snarled. "I don't need to. He's- I don't want to stand up to him. He's everything to me."

And no matter what the autobots threw at them (as in, whatever new emotional chaos they started to create by being friendly), he knew that would never change.

"Listen," June folded her hands together. "Seth was everything to me at one point too. But if we'd both known how to let go a little, give each other room to be individuals, maybe we could've remained together. Our affection was superficial; it never dug beneath an image of perfection."

And that's what had killed it. That's what poisoned it until suddenly it was give give give without taking anything but the superficial back-

Breakdown felt ill.

"We're better than that," he whispered. "We _are_."

* * *

After they'd returned inside, the uneasy feeling hadn't gone away. June had stuck around a little bit, trying to tell him stories about her time at work that made them both laugh with exasperation over stupid patients, but it couldn't undo the disquiet. Then the human nurse had needed to go to her recharge; she'd paused on the walk down the catwalk, extending a hand to rest on his nearby plating, and looked at him with all the seriousness he'd expect from a cybertronian nurse.

Her car drove off and Breakdown caught himself thinking about the offer she'd let hang; the conversation partner she said she could be.

Talking spark to spark with a fleshy didn't sound all the comfortable. M.E.C.H. had really done a great job seeing to that.

But it didn't _have_ to be entirely comfortable to be good.

With the base as empty as it was, there were other rooms that could've been chosen. The three of them would remain on Earth for at least another night; or at least until the goal of the insecticons became more clear. He'd leave that up to the new commander and Ratchet. Strategy wasn't his gig.

The room was as cramped as ever, but it had all their old things in it. Breakdown had slumped down to the ground after volunteering for the floor (for the first night and then they'd trade, his partner insisted like he had ever since joining the bots) and realized that he was exhausted. The fight couldn't have done it all. He'd been tired before that. Tired since talking to Bulkhead without resolution. After getting cornered by the two today, he was effectively unable to piece his confused thoughts together.

The medic got off the berth with all the energy Breakdown currently didn't have and pulled their buffer from its crate. "Aha!" he said brightly.

The blue mech looked up to give him undivided attention. Or it should have been undivided, had his head not been trying to compute with so much confusing...confusion.

"Cybertron interrupted us last time, but here we are at home sweet home again! So I'm thinking a buffing session, to finish up where we were-" Knock Out spun the device around in his digits. He flashed a grin at his blue partner. "Sound good?"

Breakdown didn't feel like buffing the other.

"Yeah. Perfect."

_drag you away from your friends unless they're his friends-_

_sacrificing who you are until you're him- you're his-_

_you've got to start putting your fo-pede down. Stand up for yourself-_

He stood to trudge over to the doctor and tried to hide the storm of unhappy emotions.

A pointless effort. Knock Out hadn't noticed them anyway.


	60. Doctor My Eyes

"Doctor, my eyes have seen the years  
And the slow parade of fears without crying  
Now I want to understand  
I have done all that I could  
To see the evil and the good without hiding"

_AN- Implied sexual content. Said implied content is non-consensual. First scene is a recharge flux, so its choppy writing is purposeful. Title and summary lyrics come from the song "Doctor My Eyes", which belongs to Jackson Browne and not me._

* * *

Maybe it was the return to Cybertron. Maybe.

Maybe it was strolling through those hallways so obviously built for a cybertronian.

_Gray hallway-not purple-even if purple was so big these days-_

Maybe it was coming back to Earth. Hearing things that made a different, unwanted, perspective crawl to life, crawl crawl crawl over him-

_"If it never mattered-"_

There had to be a maybe. He wouldn't have ever thought of _them_ in a flux otherwise.

_A visor flashing with hate hate so much hate-_

Normally if his fluxes pieced together into coherency they were about Knock Out.

Relatively recently they'd started being honest-to-Primus memory fluxes. Silas. Crouching on that walkway so close to his head, watching him, watching his head roll to the side sans an optic-

Or Airachnid. She smiled too. Similar to Silas's expression, but with such different hunger. The human had enjoyed watching him pulled apart but the _him_ part of it hardly mattered (just what he was made of). It hadn't even hurt, even if it had made him panic and despair. Airachnid enjoyed cutting him apart til he was just pieces pieces strewn on the ground strewn in his dreams-

Dead End did not smile. Dead End had no face to smile with.

_Gray hallway- doors on both sides, one opening- red plating-spindly frame slipping out into the gray as well-_

He wasn't supposed to have fluxes about the Stunticons. Sure, he was thinking about them lately (more than he had for vorns), but that couldn't have done it.

Returning to Cybertron couldn't have either.

_No_\- he'd said that last cycle-

Said, admitted, cursed-

_I didn't want to leave them. No offense to you guys, but. I had reasons for being where I was._

She'd talked about her life and it was so _short_, so _mundane_, so perfectly _human_-

_The way he'd jolted when Breakdown caught up-like he was caught-like he cared about that, but he wasn't supposed to-not for anything-_

That first time he'd really had a talk with Bumblebee. The first time he'd realized how pointless the patch depriving him of depth perception was. How it tried to hide behind shame by flaunting failure rather than dodging it- how it hid all the same. Hid behind pointlessness.

_"-you care about someone-"-happy smile-pure spite-pure, angry, awful spite- sinking deep down, thinking he'd spoke wrong-_

The way he'd felt such an ache upon returning from M.E.C.H. Such a need to talk about the nightmare he'd lived through, but Knock Out had done the pampering, the talking, the cooing-

_Gray hallway, red shape disappearing down it-the departing back, striding quick, moving fast-fast fast charged with spite? charged with fear, charged with grief- thinking he'd done something wrong and his brother was gone gone before they'd ever gotten close-_

Pasts and thoughts of the present, overlapping, head splitting, muddled voices mixing, so much pain-

-Breakdown tore himself from recharge.

* * *

There wasn't supposed to be so much difficulty in leaving recharge. He wasn't like the organics he'd run across over the vorns. Didn't get trapped in dreams while 'sleeping' and whatnot. Fluxes could occur, memory fluxes could take most of the recharging processor's attention, but there was supposed to be awareness so that a cybertronian could simply execute the proper coding to end recharge and leave whatever flux was troubling behind.

_Supposed_ to.

Some bots got really dragged into it though. Some couldn't grasp at the right cortical order, couldn't keep the fluxes away, because they were so smothered in distressing code after code. Those were supposed to be the old bots, the aging models, those doused in trauma that had some sort of presence in their processor keeping them from ever truly living in the present around them. Not him.

Breakdown transformed from alt mode until he was cramped up in bot mode in the corner of this tiny room. A quick look at Knock Out showed he was still out of it. Good. Recharge was meant for recharging. Not living in fluxes and thoughts.

He ran a servo down his faceplate. One digit caught on his slightly parted mouth and stayed there; he didn't notice.

So. He'd been thinking about the Stunticons again?

Heh. That was unfair. That was too broad.

It wasn't that he'd been thinking of the whole team.

He'd been thinking about one moment, one flash of memory.

Even now, he didn't like to think about it. For one, it made him feel a little bit of pity towards the teammate- and he didn't have much room to spare towards sympathizing with them.

They'd all watched him break so many times. Watched, giggled, smirked, depended on which one you were looking at. Point was, they all enjoyed watching Motormaster tear his plating off.

He figured it was 'cause it was him, not them. When Motormaster was going to be hurting someone, it was far more acceptable if it wasn't you. Acceptable turned into amusing. When? He couldn't say when. The gestalt had changed as time went on. Maybe at the start they were all a bunch of easy picks- not exceptionally violent, but used to it. Used to scraping by and finding other people's misery relieving because it wasn't happening to them (and it could; and the tides so easily turned, especially in the Stunticons). They'd never been young, never had the chance to, but there was something immature about them all.

It hadn't lasted.

Breakdown thought he was the slowest to really adjust to it. Call him naive. He did. Knock Out implied it, back at the start.

He'd been naive at the time of that memory; maybe he could blame that mockery of innocence on what he'd said. Maybe he could pin being a romantic down on why he'd made Dead End hate him so much more than the mech hated the others.

The others never showed that they gave a scrap. Breakdown had; and the normally apathetic mech loathed him for it.

It was during the start of their first vorn together as a group (they'd never made it to a second vorn). He'd been walking to his quarters and it meant going past the others. He knew each door by spark. There, Motormaster's. That one was Heatseeker's. The one at the end, right across from his, was Wildrider's. Dead End's quarters were squashed with the rest of them while Motormaster had a room farther apart to signify his rank and importance.

It was Motormaster's door that had opened, but Dead End that had slipped out. The red mech paused outside, keying the door shut behind him, blank visor briefly looking at the keying mechanism.

Then he'd started down the hall, moving in that unnatural gait of his. It unsettled Breakdown, but he didn't want to be abrasive to a brother. He'd run after the other, drawn his attention, been fool enough to smile. Asked what the other had been doing in their head's room. Gotten a flatly blunt answer. It had taken him a bit by surprise.

Only a bit. He was good enough at reading people to have seen the leers Motormaster had always sent at their faceless member. He'd suspected this from the touches, the way the purple giant held back to be near to this one during their combat-free moments.

He should have suspected the rest from the way Dead End reacted to all that attention: the way he'd stiffen up, go blank, be every bit the token apathetic. He should've known better.

But Breakdown had been swept up in what naivety he had left. It was better to call that him being dense. That fit more.

The new presence of Knock Out had been making him think all sorts of exciting little thoughts. It had been slow building and quick all at once.

To him, hearing this just made him assume another one of his brothers had found what he had with Knock Out. So Breakdown said he was happy for him. Said he was glad to see the other got to be in love. Dead End had conveyed so much spite in a faceless glare.

"I don't care about him," he'd shut the other mech down.

So Breakdown asked, then, why he was doing it?

_You ever say no to Motormaster?_

Dead End had never said anything but derision after that to him.

Pushing up to his pedes, Breakdown shook his head. He didn't like thinking about that. He didn't like thinking about the Stunticons in general. It was easier to hate. It was harder to think about what fledgling happiness they'd had at the very start. Tentative, trying- five cybertronians bound together- It would've been harder to ask all of them (or just him, the cynical part of him that wasn't convinced any of the others had ever felt the hopeful start of attachment he had said) to not feel anything.

The unit experienced that short time of tentative belonging before it soured. Or maybe it had been sour for even longer than he thought. Whatever the case, he'd been confused by what happened in that hall. He went to Knock Out where the unit medic was cleaning himself up in the shed outside the barracks and told him about it. It wasn't his fault that he was thinking (worrying) about his brother, even if the medic looked bored to hear anything about one of the other Stunticons. He didn't like them. Breakdown couldn't blame him. Not even then, but most definitely not now.

The doctor explained what he found from the situation. It made Breakdown unhappy. It made him try to soften up around Dead End, be a friend. The mech told him to drop it. When Breakdown brought up what Knock Out said, the other red mech had stabbed him clean through right above the hip with long claws._ I don't care,_ he swore. _I don't care. Not about it, not about him, not about you, not about anything. It doesn't matter; you don't matter; nothing does._

He dropped it after that. Never brought it up again. Never mentioned why he had to stumble bleeding to the medbay.

But as much as he swore off being bothered by it, Dead End did not stay static. Polished red turned to horrid greens and oranges. Twitches grew worse, he'd make off comments about the other's power cores looking more tempting than energon cubes, and just overall grew absolutely impossible to ever be around.

He didn't ever leave Motormaster's room after those changes.

Breakdown felt the need to punch something. He slipped from the room where his partner was recharging and satisfied his need in the quiet training room.

* * *

It was the new bot that interrupted him first. Ultra Magnus appeared in the training room about half a jour after Breakdown had entered. The commander stalled at the entrance after seeing it was occupied. The neutral offered him a nod, which seemed to break the pause. Ultra Magnus entered stiffly and began a routine of his own on the opposite side of the room.

Deciding that was really all too awkward to be worth it, Breakdown had left.

Although before he had, the autobot had spoken up, asking for him by name. While he waited in the doorway, Ultra Magnus asked why his partner knew autobot protocols so well.

Honestly, he didn't have an answer. But the question was so unexpected he'd broke into laughter.

"Is it a trick?" the bot asked and it made Breakdown laugh again.

He was pretty stupid himself, but even he knew that no one trying to pull a trick ever admitted to that.

"No," he grinned when the laughter was gone. "He just tries really hard. He really wants to be a bot."

Why, Breakdown still didn't know. Maybe he should find out that _why_.

They'd toed the question before but it had never been directly addressed. Breakdown wouldn't have thought to do so unless Knock Out brought it up first.

So maybe he should. Maybe he should because it'd be a try at what the others had told him to do the day before.

Every part of him wanted to deny that conversation. Every part wanted to insist that the changes they were asking him to try weren't needed.

There wasn't a need to change unless there was a problem. Their relationship didn't need to change unless it was hurting one or both of them.

And every part of him wanted defensively to deny that as well.

Breakdown couldn't escape the thoughts. Not when Bumblebee looked at him with such worried optics, asking him if he was doing alright. Come on, it wasn't like he was showing anything. He looked as normal as ever on the outside: grumpy, ready to punch someone, arms crossed during debriefings. There were two of those. First in that morning. The human Fowler had called giving a 'five minutes heads up' (hearing his voice over the comms instead of seeing them come from the human himself just made Breakdown feel even more convinced that he'd commed with this guy sometime in the past. Nothing had come of this unexplained deja vu.) and then arrived and insisted on having everyone there to rant. Apparently, dealing with the survivors and the rest of his military and the human press was making the grumpy guy even more grumpy. It was kinda entertaining, really. He'd yell for Prime and then realize the big guy wasn't around and slump a bit.

Anyway, Earth was having a bit of a hard time covering up for so many eyewitnesses. Breakdown zoned out a bit during that section of the briefing, he'd admit. Fowler had left, only to return a few jours later to work with Ultra Magnus in wondering where the insecticons would be found next. Personally, Breakdown just wanted them to hurry up and find out. He wanted to bash a couple of the other bugs. Maybe the action would bury the confusion.

Because there was _so much confusion._

Knock Out had wanted them to come here to the bots. He'd wanted to make this giant trade in loyalties and by now Breakdown was actually feeling glad they'd done it. But he wanted to know why. He wanted to know why Knock Out himself had changed so much for those couple of orns.

He wanted to know if the medic knew something- knew something about them that he felt like needed to be fixed because why else had there needed to be such a transformation?

It was almost like Knock Out had been handling him gingerly for a while there. Second guessing everything, shutting up randomly, prodding him for opinions he felt like went over the medic's head anyway; he'd hated it because it had felt like they'd drifted apart. Like Knock Out didn't like him anymore because why else would he start to act like he didn't know them both?

_I thought I needed to make everything work perfectly smooth and that meant_

_being of **one mind**_

_all the time_

It wasn't clear thinking. It was him jealous and panicking over anything that seemed like a threat to the one-mindedness he had convinced himself they shared.

So had his partner been onto something back then? Was Breakdown onto something now, as he thought about the base and himself and the world-

Only a couple of cycles ago, he'd wondered what he'd do if Knock Out told him they were going back to the cons and killing the bots here. Well, wondered was the wrong word. He'd automatically known what he'd do: what Knock Out said, even if he didn't want to.

He thought about the vehicons he'd been friends with that he hadn't seen since the night in the forest.

He decided he wanted to change his answer, to uproot that automatic obeying- he didn't want to think he'd listen to that order because he didn't want to go back again, to hurt these guys. The past was a confusing muddle. The current with Knock Out was more unknown than he would like.

But even if he couldn't change how he'd felt in the confusing muddle of history, Breakdown hesitantly decided the present could be deciphered. When he went back to Cybertron, he'd try to find a way to close off the past with Bulkhead. But while he was on Earth-

he could at least try to do what the other two had asked him to.

Breakdown found himself wandering to the medbay towards the end of that uneventful cycle. Knock Out was busy, going on a scouting mission with Bumblebee while Ultra Magnus directed them from the main monitor with Fowler at his side.

He'd watched Ratchet work for a while before walking in.

The medic noticed him in the doorway and glanced his way.

"Hey." Breakdown frowned.

There was too much- too much everywhere, past and present, too much that confused him. The feelings wanted to overwhelm him.

Servos clenched tight. He thought of Bumblebee; the first autobot here he really felt the desire to not-bash in.

"What do you want?" Ratchet snapped.

If only he knew.

"Just." The blue mech shrugged helplessly. "I wanted to know if I could help out."

For a moment, the old medic's optics slid wide apart.

"Y-y-" he stuttered before regaining his usual bluster. "And what exactly do you think you can do in here? It's already crowded."

Breakdown shrugged again.

"I don't know. 'just figured I've been letting my practise get rusty."

Ratchet had him help hold things while the doctor tried to get all his equipment organized in a way that left some room to walk around the berth and whatnot.

It moved to questions stiffly. A test, an example, etc. Breakdown tried to talk back even if the whole time he felt like he was betraying his medic. Like he was hurting Knock Out's trust just by having another doctor give him training advice.

Eventually, he mustered himself together to ask a question of his own.

It felt like betrayal far more than the rest. It felt dirty to talk about while Knock Out wasn't able to hear, off on a mission.

And that made him...he didn't know a big fancy word for it. Not angry, not really, but saying it made him mad fit best.

His own unquestionably present affection for Knock Out aside, there was a begrudging feeling that he _shouldn't_ have to feel dirty for discussing his own choices _on his own._

He hadn't really wanted Bumblebee and June to be right.

"Ratchet," he'd asked and drew the old mech's attention. "Can my optic be fixed?"

After that, he'd been ushered to the berth and had to sit on it while Ratchet looked behind the patch. Some time passed while the medic poked around with thin tools, grumbling to himself, being very thorough.

Finally, he'd set his stuff aside and handed Breakdown back his patch to put on himself.

"It's repairable," the medic said. "It would've been an easier repair early on, but it's far from a lost cause."

That evening, Knock Out had gotten back. Breakdown had listened to his story about the race he'd beaten Bumblebee in during their outing that day patiently. Then he'd spoken up and asked about his optic.

"Oh, that?" his partner had sounded surprised. "You wouldn't let me touch that. Really, I thought you didn't want-"

And he'd gone on about the optic until it had changed subjects.

Breakdown didn't want to let go so fast.

"What would you think if I wanted it fixed?" he asked.

His partner had stroked down his arm and offered a smile. "I thought you didn't want it fixed," he'd repeated as though that answered it. As though it meant that he, the one who'd said he wanted a patch, was a closed case.

He'd returned the smile and let the conversation continue until Knock Out had been called by Ultra Magnus.

As guilty as he felt, Breakdown tried to convince his glitchy processor that there wasn't a reason to feel that guilt. He'd tried and gotten an answer and now he was going to consider actually moving on instead of waiting for his partner's lead.

He hadn't wanted it fixed.

The part of him that felt uneasy at change didn't want it fixed.

His servo rapped outside the medbay and drew Ratchet's attention again.

"What now?" the other had asked shortly.

It took effort to say it. He found himself disliking that it took effort. Had it always been there? Had everything always been like this and he'd just not noticed because he was convinced that was as it should be?

"Can you fix my optic?"

He said the dirty words and felt the resentment at the guilt it brought.

It was a circle of confusion and guilt and bitterness and confusion again. It circled round and round like his fluxes did in his recharge.

When Breakdown went to their empty room first that night, the circle was still spinning around painfully. He lay on the berth and wondered why Knock Out had first insisted they trade off when he'd offered to have the floor. He wondered, as he had for days and orns (though he'd pushed it aside then up until it became impossible to hide from it), why Knock Out felt convinced there was a catalyst for change.

Because there _had_ to be a catalyst: and the only option he had was the one offered to him by those other two last cycle.

He pulled his legs up on the cramped berth, arms accidentally knocking the nearest pile of datapads to the floor. They clattered there: a collection of autobot codes and laws and treaties that he hadn't had a desire to touch while Knock Out had so avidly consumed them.

His attention tracked up from the scattered datapads to the pedes leaving no shadow on the ground by the doorway wall. Up from those pedes to the spindly form. Not the one he'd worn when they'd met. This was that unappealing green, the one that seemed to have come from a catalyst the mech had never admitted to feeling; a lime visor stared at him (one he was supposed to hate absolutely but there'd been an evolution of confusion there too, ever since Bulk started dredging things up, ever since he had stalled in bitter hate just long enough to start wondering what knocked the others off that edge Knock Out had held him back from- even though he knew there was no point in wondering, no point in leaving that rage behind, except maybe to find some peace like the green wrecker was seeking for; was that why he'd started bringing their faces back from where Knock Out had buried them?) while he stared frozen at the memory.

And the words- the ones he'd wondered all cycle- the ones he'd possibly been wondering and shoving aside in his mind for orns and vorns- spilled forward to a shape that wouldn't answer.

"If it never mattered," he spoke to the memory "-then why did you change?"

* * *

_"Doctor, my eyes_  
_Cannot see the sky_  
_Is this the prize_  
_For having learned how not to cry"_


	61. Best Laid Plans

_AN- The character in the first scene refers to Lockdown as 'it' instead of 'he'. It's a tactic used to de-humanize (de-cybertronianize?) and was put in on purpose, so don't be confused when it first starts showing up._

_Thanks goes out to the guest reader for dropping a review. All reviews are appreciated._

* * *

They'd been tracking their target for just under a stellar cycle. It was the longest time they'd been stuck on a single quarry, but the target was an elusive one.

It was another bounty hunter. And the other hunter knew how to leave smoke trails and cover its rear.

There wasn't any sort of rush to get the target immediately. Business had been slow the last vorn. A couple stellar cycles between any real hiring happened. Getting a hit was few and far between. They almost never came in Cybertron's home galaxy. That meant most hits came from organics or other aliens further out in the galaxy cluster. A few came from the bigshots- the alien alliances that liked to act so high and mighty around cybertronians. At least until one showed the slightest hint of threatening; then the self-righteous judgers wilted fast. _Oh, you think we're all just a bunch of barbarians for fighting for a couple million years? What primitives we must be to keep going on with pointless civil war that long! Want a closer look at this primitive's claws?_

The others liked doing it. Razerhorn had gotten a few to ooze just by stepping in real close to them. The big ones, the ones close to (or even larger than) their size, were a little harder to scare than the tinies. But any of the self righteous peacekeepers reeked with fear when a cybertronian started looking too offended.

Personally, Shadelock didn't care.

He didn't mind when the other two had their fun, but he made it his own policy to not scare off customers. If they ran off, they didn't pay.

Now this guy- this guy they were after was a real piece of work. Took a special pleasure in cutting things off targets, which let a good few of them escape from their little table prison. That sort of stupidity shot more hunters in the pede than actually saw a job finished. A job was supposed to be quiet. It was supposed to lack flair. Stasis lock took the 'fun' out of a bot, but it also took the ability to escape out of the equation.

Shadelock and his crew weren't well known. Most cybertronians didn't know about them, at least. Shadelock had started it that way. So far as he knew, he was still registered as a criminal to the decepticons for having the audacity to make himself a frame like a forged. The autobots didn't like him any more. Something to do with how his new appearance still just reeked of the vehicon he'd been made to be. Most other bounty hunters didn't want him because he was too young. It was true; both his crewmates were millions of stellar cycles old where he had been made in one of Shockwave's first drone batches relatively recently. The two of them didn't care though.

Most of their customers didn't either. Most of their customers were aliens and to them cybertronians of any age were automatically one of 'those' ancient guys who fight constantly.

None of those clients knew a thing about them, unless it was their second (or further) time hiring the crew. They lived a life waiting to be called for a new job, comfortably well off with alien currencies and the rare cybertronian credits, working rather quietly on a ship that housed them all.

There was nothing famous about them.

But a name like _Lockdown_, oh yes. That was _big news_, a big important face to fear. Bounty hunter extraordinaire; a living legend.

Made a lot of enemies, being famous.

Made a lot of people willing to pay to make that infamy go away.

The Xxon Federation was far from an enjoyable organization, but they'd dug up a list of bounty hunters and tried them one after one. Too many of their own (read [which he did]: the cybertronian hired help they picked up from defecting cons or cowardly bots that happened to have paying enemies holding grudges against them) had gotten dragged away by Lockdown, it seemed.

Cybertronians of both factions didn't like the mech either, despite hiring the one they disliked often enough. Anybody in the closest four galaxies that were involved in the bounty hunting world knew the name Lockdown.

It was funny. Shadelock didn't feel the need to say that word much, but this was mildly amusing. Their target had such a trail of infamy behind it and yet the ones who were finally going to take it down weren't ever even going to be known for doing so.

And they had the target close now. Caution would be key to keeping it in their sights this time around; it was evident the quarry knew it was being followed. Still, Shadelock was a touch impatient to finally get this job done. He didn't like how long it had taken them all already to return successful to the Xxon with their prize.

So it was almost (_almost_) frustrating when Razerhorn had jolted upright, jerked forward, and slammed a fist down on the pilot controls.

"Get...us...away-" he hissed.

Most likely out of shock, Rough Edge listened. The ship went stationary.

After letting it hold there, the one at the pilot's seat spun around to look up at their biggest crewmember.

"What the frag, mech?" Rough Edge asked.

Razerhorn was feeling at his head, dragging his palms down it again and again. There was an uncomfortable growl emanating from him. Shadelock put his own servo on the rifle by his seat. It was a cautionary motion only; he'd rather not have to kill one of the two outcasts who'd proven to be good fits for his business.

"It's..."

The servos dragged down again, claws sliding over vermilion paint and peeling it apart. Razerhorn finally let them drop, wavering on his pedes a moment. Energon trickled down the sides of his helm but the growling noise had equalized and was fading away.

"We can't-" he tried speaking again. "Not yet. Have to keep away."

Shadelock leaned forward over his knees.

"Why is that?" he asked.

The big mech rumbled again. _Shuddered_, would be the right term really.

"There's a queen." Razerhorn muttered. "The target...there's a queen by the target."

Rough Edge tiled his head.

"Queen? The frag you goin' on abo-"

Before the insecticon could answer, Shadelock cut across them both.

"A real queen?" he wondered. "An insecticon? Most likely the target's own quarry then."

Razerhorn shook. Exhaustion left behind from the mental effort needed to rebuff the strange psychic link between insecticons seemed to be taking a toll.

"Doesn't matter. Can't go near until that queen is gone."

With the mouth he'd given himself, Shadelock frowned.

Lovely. So they were back to waiting from a distance.

* * *

The alarm went off loud enough to alert the whole base.

Ultra Magnus was ready for it.

All of them were. Waiting around did tend to make soldiers antsy.

The human agent who'd landed his manual vehicle above (the source of the alarm) strolled out of the elevator door impatiently.

"Do you have news for us, agent Fowler?" Ratchet asked first from where he was working at the monitor.

"Seems like it," the human answered. "And it's a doozy. We may have found our hotspot."

Ultra Magnus attempted to translate that _answer_ as quickly as possible. It would not do to stall too long.

He went with: "Are you referring to the insecticon base of operations?"

The native took it in stride, pointing at the main screen in the room. Ratchet dutifully pulled up whatever file the agent had sent him before.

"U.S. drones have been tracking the bugs since everything with M.E.C.H. went down. Ju-Ms. Darby was taken outside Jasper; so far as we can tell from her account, Airachnid must be somewhere within a relatively short flying distance to here."

Ratchet leaned forward. "And cross-check that with the places they've been seen going to and from without utilizing what portable groundbridging technology Airachnid used to meet with us at the rendezvous?"

This was better. This was tactics. So far, the team here had seemed apt to act on..._on a whim,_ he believed the expression for the inconceivable action went. Which was, of course, unacceptable.

"And our drones have managed to look at where there's a lot of back and forth within those limits. We think we've got insecticon activity hovering over a secluded zone in western Utah," Fowler said.

Good. They needed to find the hive and burn it down now. Cybertron was waiting.

Optimus Prime was waiting. And he wished to be helping his commander where he was.

The vorns he'd spent remaining behind with the war after Optimus left on the Ark only convinced him of that: this time he would not ignore his Prime's wishful direction.

* * *

The hive was in a _rather familiar_ area.

Bumblebee felt a little stupid that they'd never thought of this. That maybe Airachnid hadn't moved her army much from where she'd found them.

Yeah. They really were idiots sometimes.

But there wasn't time to be embarrassed.

Ultra Magnus was in front of the group, frowning as he looked over the collapsed basin of igneous rocks. Breakdown was frowning too, although he seemed to have a different reason.

"Weren't we here before?" he asked.

Bingo. Bumblebee snorted down a laugh before Magnus could notice.

At least someone else had noticed too.

Of course, they didn't get a whole lot of time to question things. They had a mission to do.

It was not a pleasant mission, that much he decided as it neared its end. Insecticons were hard to fight. Even if they fell to blaster fire easily, they had enough numbers to make up for that weakness. Bumblebee felt borderline overwhelmed at a few points.

He really didn't appreciate that feeling. It made it too easy to think of massive servos holding him in place while growling for answers.

The cons swarmed in the air mainly. The cave systems were below.

So of course he and Knock Out went into them. His job was to be a scout, not a warrior. So he would scout for the head of this army and then the two of them would endeavor to cut it off.

They kept their weapons ready while they ran down the tunnels until the faint blue glow of monitors shone on the dark earth. Any insecticons they ran into were shot by him before they could get too close. Well, except for that one insecticon warrior; warriors were obvious, not because they looked any different from the others (they didn't), but because of how vicious they fought. And how hard they were to take down. Fighting one of those was never fun and the one waiting outside the monitor room was no exception.

It was almost weird there'd only been one out there. He'd have thought Airachnid would want more protection.

And then they'd actually burst in on...

nothing. No Airachnid. No other insecticons. A couple flickering screens, a portable groundbridge remote, a few transmitters- even a nasty throne like thing in the middle of the room that probably _was_ a throne.

_"She's gone,"_ he said.

Knock Out grimaced, moving to draw a finger over some of the tech. "Look at the stuff over on that side of the room and then tell me: is it as covered in dust as everything over here?"

It had been.

They'd gone to the surface in time to watch the tiny specks of distant insecticons disappear from view, hounded by other tiny specks (helicopters from Fowler's guys, he'd wager to bet).

_"Airachnid isn't here,"_ he drew the other two's attention.

"Then where is she?" Breakdown growled. His fists were noticeably creaking. Bumblebee couldn't find it in him to blame the guy for holding a grudge.

"From the looks of it, she packed up and left a while ago," Knock Out answered. It was kinda funny to watch how his inspection of his own claws turned to ramrod straight attention when Magnus frowned. Who was he kidding, it was hilarious.

They'd all tried to inspect the area further after that. The commander would've kept them there to analyze and record every speck if human military hadn't started approaching. That was their cue to go.

Magnus stayed behind to speak with Fowler about the situation. The rest of them bridged back to the base in Jasper feeling well worn out by having to combat insecticons and the tenacious detective work Magnus put them through.

Since Breakdown slid away from the others with too-fast speed towards the medbay, Bumblebee figured it wasn't a good time for a group hang out.

Still wasn't stopping him from enjoying every new second he got to stay on Earth.

_"So."_ The scout grinned under his mouthpiece at Knock Out. _"Wanna listen to some Rear Axle with me?"_

The medic seemed far from 'wanting' to per say, but they did it together anyways.

At least until Knock Out had stolen the speakers from him to play what he called "decent" music.

Bumblebee was too amused at how they'd wrestled over the controls to be insulted.

* * *

Ratchet noticed him almost right away. The moment he peeked into the medbay, the medic glanced at the open 'doorway' and saw him waiting there.

He made no move to do anything other than wait. For some reason, this entire venture made him feel sheepish; Breakdown didn't like it but he was stuck fiddling with his servos in discomfort while waiting for an invitation in.

"Um. You think at all about what I asked you about yesterday?"

That was redundant. Scrap, he sounded like a total fool sometimes. Knock Out was good about making him sound smarter; they had a working banter, fed off each other's prompts.

Except he talked just fine around the vehicons. In fact, he almost sounded smart around them. It wasn't a super high bar, sure, but the way he felt less pressure around them ended up making him act even less like an idiot.

"I got a few together when I could," Ratchet moved towards him, pointing at a tray laying on the berth. A couple of scrappy optics looked back at him when Breakdown went to investigate.

Just on appearance alone, they were far from confidence boosting.

Maybe full vision wasn't worth it-

"They'll see just fine," the medic said as though he could read thoughts.

Instead of questioning the likelihood of that statement, Breakdown said: "They look like trash."

Wait.

Ratchet stared at him with either offense or amusement. He got the intense feeling that he was about to get kicked out of this medbay.

"Are they all blue?" he asked instead.

That earned him a scoff. But a glance to the side showed Ratchet's mouth quirking up at the side.

"Are you worried about cosmetics now?" The medic shook his head after the comment, continuing with far less sass: "I worked with what I had here. Put a yellow lens over the optic and it'll match the one you still have. What really matters now is which of these is going to function the least like 'trash' for your frame."

Made sense. Breakdown poked at the optics on the tray. One little orb rolled and it sent a few others on little tracks around the tray after hitting them.

The other waited a few moments before speaking up again.

"Do you want to pick one now?" Ratchet asked. "I can't perform any operation yet, but we can at least test for frame compatibility with the one you chose."

Did he?

Breakdown made a gesture of impatience.

"Gimme a click."

When Ratchet stepped over, looking up at him, the blue mech bristled.

"If you want to take them out of here to think it over, do it. I'd rather have my workspace less cluttered," the medic said dryly.

It must've been a doctor thing. They all had rather dry comments sometimes.

"What, you think I-you-I'm not that slow-"

"I don't have time for bullshit," the medic cut him off. "Just say it if you want to think about this first."

"Bull...? Wait-" Breakdown shook his head. "No, no. I'm ready now."

To his surprise, he almost felt like that was true.

* * *

The plan was to approach the ruins of the outpost by staying on the edges of the far ravine. If the forge was not in those ruins, then they would have to assume it was on the _Nemesis_. Should that be the case, then Optimus would need a way aboard that ship. The forge had to be retrieved. The omega lock must be repaired.

Plans were often simple. They could be created quite complexly, it was true, but even the most overcomplicated strategy had a simple baseline.

Execution was where plans went awry.

The autobots waited at the edge of the ravine closest to the ruined outpost. There, Optimus had contacted Ratchet and learned the progress of the mission on Earth. The news, however grim for the human city his autobots had gone to, was good: they had defeated those insecticons and would be working to find where the bulk of that army lay.

Good news was the type of morale they all needed to hear before heading out.

Smokescreen had been overeager. It made Arcee frown and Bulkhead look on in sympathy.

Arcee was oveready. She wanted to strike at the decepticons; to channel the hurt she felt over losing their planet a second time to the enemy.

Bulkhead was embarrassed. He felt responsible for letting the forge fall into this predicament; it had been him who had wielded it in the battle for the omega lock before and him who set it aside in a vault in the outpost.

Optimus went to each one of them to try to ease what emotions would hold them back from battling or place them in danger.

Once finished, he ordered the mission to begin.

There were still decepticons in the area. Megatron was no longer visible, nor were his lieutenants, but vehicons were moving about in the wreckages. They required stealth that most of them hardly had to creep into the ruins of the outpost.

None of the drones noticed them. It was not altogether surprising; vehicons tended to have weaknesses in proper observation skills.

They split apart, as their plan had recommended. They covered more ground, hiding from decepticons and sneaking through the different levels of this destroyed place.

He himself went for the vault in hopes that the forge would still be there.

It was not.

There was a sinking inside at that. Despair wanted to rise, but was dulled by the Matrix. He could not lose himself in the moment.

There were many times in his life that he found himself needing to thank that dull. Without it, surprises could take dangerous advantage of him.

When Optimus turned away from the half crushed remains of the empty vault, he felt that dull again; forcing down panic the way it had suffocated despair.

The metal sheets overhead kept the illusion of a hallway, even as it was merely rubble held up by still standing walls.

And in the illusionary hallway was an enemy -tail flicking behind it, claws carving into the ground- that he had not heard approaching.

It was the predacon.

The maw split open and roared.

* * *

_AN- Ratchet has accepted a few new words to his hidden vocabulary of curses (reserved for only the most annoying of patients). He does not care if they're inapplicable to his species._

_Xxon was a reference to the alien species Taxxons from the Animorphs franchise. The Death's Head in TF Animated apparently (as in, it's said in supplemental materials) included "scavenged parts from Taxxon sources" (TFWIKI)._  
_I was out of creativity for names and this is was I reduce myself to when that happens_


	62. Unsophisticated Stratagems

The spacebridge tore open to admit all three of them. The predacon had moved to follow Shockwave until Megatron looked its way.

"Shockwave," he spoke up and drew the scientist's attention. "Order your pet to stay behind. It is meant to find our missing autobots, not visit stratagems."

His scientists did not, of course, show a reaction.

"Your orders are enough."

And before he'd even said it, the predacon had already begun to back away. It had been well trained if it could so easily recognize the commands of its master. Megatron was pleased.

They left the beast behind on Cybertron and proceeded into the halls of the _Nemesis_.

Dreadwing was waiting, arms clasped behind him and head lifted in attention.

"My lord," he greeted.

Megatron felt the amusing sensation that he had left his second in command of the ship for far longer than the two cycles he had. It was a taste of deja vu; it seemed so recent he had returned from his long venture in isolated space to the warship his then 2IC commanded in that absence. He let himself smile at the odd feeling, but forced the amusement away.

"Dreadwing," the warlord drew the name out. "Gather my officers to the vault."

He lifted the hilt of his new weapon effortlessly to show off what he was dragging along the floor.

"I must have witnesses for our latest victory."

* * *

Which in the end was far from thrilling.

Megatron felt the strong desire to kill someone. Sadly, no one in the room was expendable at the moment. He settled with a seething growl, dropping the useless forge next to the stack of metal it had failed to change.

The others watched silently. Really, he expected Starscream at least to start mocking his impotence at creating a nucleon shock cannon. Perhaps his silent rage was too palpable to encourage such harassment.

"It is as I suspected," he said into the silence. "Without the power of a Prime to activate it, the forge is but another addition to our tool chest."

What a disgusting turn. All that remained was to keep it away from Optimus-

Wait.

A laugh built up but did not spill forth. Dreadwing was watching him with an expression of confusion, as if lost over how easily his mood had changed from murderous to peaceful.

"It is useless, except in the hand of a Prime," he reiterated. The chuckle finally tore out. "But I might wield that power, if I was to control such a hand."

His officers were quiet. Starscream was the first of them to break that, throwing his head back to laugh as well. "You can't mean..."

The warlord flashed him a sharp grin.

"What do you think?" he answered, enjoying the brief back and forth between his sec-his air commander. They were both creative enough to easily fall upon the same ghoulish thought for bypassing this little problem.

"Soundwave." Megatron looked away from the seeker to the spymaster. "Which Prime's tomb is nearest the location of the Shockwave's base of operations on Cybertron?"

The TIC responded a moment later with a picture of coordinates on his visor.

Perfect. The smile he wore had yet to slip away.

Although Shockwave did try to still his mirth.

"Using a deceased Prime's servo will not allow the forge to read a Prime's energy signature," the scientist argued. "It is most likely that the forge must respond to the signature of the Matrix through a Prime's touch, hence its activation lock. Merely using a piece of a corpse will not register on that scale of the lock."

Perhaps that could be the case. But he had seen how the star saber operated in Optimus Prime's touch. There was a power about that weapon that was far from modern standards of science: something ancient, untold, forgotten, that could destroy anything with a single strike.

"A compelling argument- but you do not have the intimate exposure to these ancient relics that we have had. They are not limited to fields and energy signatures and neither is the forge. No," Megatron laughed. "It is far more mystical than that."

Since he could not frown, Shockwave merely glared intently at the forge.

"That is illogical."

Most dealings with mystics tended to be.

But on to more pressing matters.

"Doctor," Megatron addressed the only vehicon present in this meeting. "Be ready for my operation."

The drone gave a single, silent nod. It reminded him of Soundwave in its simplicity.

But Soundwave could get away with being quiet. XL-2M99 knew where he stood.

"Yes, Lord Megatron."

Such wonderful obedient loyalty. Respect was meant to be a staple of a functioning army.

Despite how many important decepticons tended to set that aside...Megatron bit back a growl.

"Good. Dreadwing-" he gestured to the bulky seeker. "You will come with me."

The lieutenant inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Starscream-" the warlord looked to next. "Assume control of the _Nemesis_. I want it hovering in Cybertron's gravity by the time Dreadwing and I return with our...tool."

Before the seeker had time to begin preening in full, he continued: "Shockwave has requested the omega lock's remains be brought on board. Oversee this as well."

Shockwave moved his glare from the illogical mystical weapon to Starscream. Megatron paid little heed to whatever frustration remained there. He moved to the doorway, Dreadwing slipping behind him dutifully, before he paused again.

"Oh," he added in faux afterthought. "And Starscream? You will be assuming control of the predacon as well. Do try to balance it all."

He didn't miss the brief panic flashing over the seeker's faceplates at mention of the predacon.

But he could not care. The beast must have direction from any high ranking decepticon if it was to prove a useful weapon.

And Starscream was his best military commander. If any officer should have control of such a superweapon in Megatron's absence, it had to be the best- however distasteful that best could be at times.

* * *

Optimus did not wait for it to attack.

Many times, his reactions waited for his opponent to make the first move.

He could no longer afford such courtesy. The Prime swung forward with the star saber.

Unfortunately, his quick reaction was still hampered by the slowness inevitable to one as large as he was. Or most that large; the predacon seemed far less restricted than either he or Megatron.

His strike carved through the hall where the creature was. With enviable speed, it crushed through the wall on its left. Between his strike and that crash, the support for what debris made up the 'ceiling' fell. Metal rushed down, forcing him to lift an arm above his head. Dust kicked up around him, preventing a perfect view of the enemy. The only sign of it came from the energon visible through the dust and fallen debris- and the deafening screech that sounded out.

While he had not cleaved the predacon in two, it seemed it had still tasted his blade.

_«Autobots!»_ he commed while he had the chance. _«I have engaged the predacon.»_

He shoved the sheet of metal laying on his protective arm away. It crashed among the rest, allowing him to stretch up in full again. The star saber remained clutched in his other servo.

_«Search for the forge. It is likely in the decepticon's hold»_ he ordered.

A moment later and the debris to his right blew into him with enough force to come as shocking. He wrestled for his senses when he went still; crushed under both rubble and a long extinct being.

It snapped its mandibles at him. Oily blue dripped down the side of its head; one of the decorative crests atop it was gone. Other such spines along the right side of its body were similarly cut and leaking.

Optimus let himself smile faintly under his battlemask despite the threatening weight atop him.

It seemed the predacon was just a mortal too.

* * *

The fact that he'd engaged the new weaponized monster was pretty much clear the minute half the ruined building fell in. Optimus's clarification after only cemented what the others had known.

They ran from the ruins despite not having fully investigated every part for the forge.

"What's the plan?" Smokescreen yelled. He was managing to hop pede to pede even while they ran. It really was some sort of accomplishment. "Do we go back and help Optimus out?"

Against that thing? Bulkhead wasn't sure how much help they'd be.

"Didn't you hear him?" Arcee snapped. "We've got our orders."

As unhappy as they may be.

The trio pulled out of their sprint, turning as one to look at where smoke was billowing out from the ruined dome.

"Yeah, about that." The rookie forced his head away from the obvious signs of battle to look at them. "How exactly are we supposed to-"

With record lucky timing, his question was cut off by the sound of a space bridge tearing open. All three bots looked up in dread at the giant portal.

The shadow of the warship slowly lowered out of the vortex. Two much smaller specks separated from the looming _Nemesis_ and tore across the sky away from view.

"...scrap," Smokescreen finished in a much smaller voice.

Yeah. Pretty much.

But Arcee was looking up at the approaching threat with laser focus. The two-wheeler didn't break her stare off with the ship, but Bulkhead could still tell she was addressing him when she spoke next:

"Get me on that ship."

* * *

The hive crowded into a new set of burrows.

Insecticons murmured lowly, feeling a rare mental clarity that could only mean their queen's hold was weakening. Not enough to imprint on a new one, but enough to reconsider the commands they had been given.

Hardshell was considering too much. It was he who had been made her proxy to lead this hunt. It was he who addressed those in this cavern now. Addressed between angry pacing over dirt. It was better he hear his own pedefall than the thrum of those humans vehicles searching for them all from outside this cave.

"They prowl above us," Hardshell growled. His pacing interrupted so that he could clench both fists tight. "Like we are vermin, waiting in our burrows."

The irony of such words was not lost on the warrior. Or not all of it was, at least.

"We should hide," came the rasp of one of the older members of the hive. _Needler_.

As disgusting as the idea was, Hardshell was not immune to its pragmatism.

"Only until we have lost the attention of those that hunt above," he responded.

Needler nodded. "Then we must return to our commands."

Disgusting. Hardshell sneered at the weak minded one.

"We 'must' do nothing," he spat. "Our queen is gone."

A few voices raised in distress.

"She will return. And her task will have been done satisfactorily by then," Needler denied.

For one of their most ancient hivemembers, he was a fool. This latest queen had no care devoted in them, no respect for their prowess. Hardshell had functioned for many millennia. He had been under the servitude of multiple queens.

His preference was for his one true master.

But any insecticon queen could surpass whatever preferences he held. _So long_ as they remained in proximity to their hive.

"We do not have to do any such thing," Hardshell growled. "There is no honor in her rulership. We are warriors. The greatest warriors the decepticon army ever employed."

There was a minor uproar at that too.

"We should leave this world. There is no challenge in fighting these sad dregs." He lifted his voice above insecticon wails and mumbles. "Unite with a true cause, a true queen- and show worthy opponents of the decepticon army the insurmountable strength of insecticon warriors!"

Shoving away from the others, Needler disappeared back into the crowd. Hardshell made a note to kill the other at the nearest juncture. It would not do to have that weakminded contact the queen that had so recently faded in power.

"She will kill us!" a scout keened. "Even now, the queen is in our minds- hearing this rebellion-"

Most scouts were young. The young were fools.

Some of the ancients were fools as well, he considered as he watched Needler's departing form.

Only true sparked warriors avoided such a pitfall.

"Our minds are masked," Hardshell told him. "If they were not, we could not even be considering such."

That appeased most of the hive. Their fear dulled, at the least.

"So let us no longer crawl to the surface for such inferior tasks as she had commanded us to."

A different one, a fighter lacking in scars and likely experience, shifted forward. _Scalewing_.

"Don't want to either," he grunted. "Bad queen. Bad orders."

Good.

"Should find new queen," Scalewing continued. "Should lay low here. Decepticons hardly better-"

Less good. Hardshell hit him, shoving the smaller warrior aside.

"Hide like common pests?" he hissed. "No. We take to the skies to find them."

Or they would, if the current queen's hold was not still faintly there. Her control may have waned through proximity differences, but her mind was focused on each of those hive members she had enthralled. They could not seek a new queen until that connection cut.

All they could do now was plot and prepare and disobey while ignoring the pain their hive felt at doing so. They could hide or even leave the planet, despite what they had been ordered to do; there was a difference between rebelling against a weakened dominance and latching onto a new one.

Their sparks could not shift to a new queen until the old let go of her hold.


	63. Bad Days, Bad Bots, Bad Thoughts

_AN- Airachnid is here and being nasty, so there's her obligatory warning._

_Overlord, Vortex, and the DJD hail from the G1/IDW continuity. Also. Overlord. That's a warning all on its own._

* * *

The _Nemesis_ lowered with infinite slowness. Clamps extended when it reached the ground; they hooked around pieces of the omega lock and began laboriously lifting them.

They hadn't noticed the fight yet, but they soon would. The predacon was making enough of a smoking ruckus to alert anyone to the presence of a fight.

Arcee had broken into the ship multiple times on different occasions. She smuggled herself through a con groundbridge that one time, only to have Soundwave groundbridge her out. She and Bumblebee had gotten aboard to rescue Fowler, climbing up the sides of the lowered ship just like Bulkhead had done before them.

The point was, this wasn't an infeasible feat.

The cranes were likely her best option. They were closer the the ground, easier to get on.

Smokescreen kept looking between her and the _Nemesis_ in confusion.

"Wait, you mean-?"

Said the kid who'd tried to break into the _Nemesis_ before once already.

"We don't have much time," she said. "We need on there now; if any of us get the chance to get on, take it. Find where the forge is at and get off."

It was a better plan than her previous one, she had to admit. Much less unsavory than trying to get the answers from one of the cons around here.

Speaking of...

Another crash from the ruins split the air. Optimus could be seen flying down from the top of the rubble, twisting midair to get a better landing. That huge predacon thing jumped after him.

If she had to place a bet, she'd say the vehicons that were cleaning the area were a bit too distracted by that to notice the other three bots.

All the better. Arcee folded into herself and sped towards the _Nemesis_; the other two following after.

* * *

He really did want to enjoy the feeling of being essentially promoted to a legitimate 2IC.

Starscream really hadn't found the time to enjoy it much though. As soon as they came through to Cybertron's atmosphere and Megatron departed, chaos had decided to unfold.

The autobots were down there. Fighting with Shockwave's new abomination. Which was currently wiping the floor with one Optimus Prime, star saber or no.

Starscream did not like that strength. It was incredible, truly, but horridly untamed. It was crashing through all remaining infrastructure down there without a care from keeping anything in one stable piece.

This was worse than Megatron's undead army plan. At least those creatures could be controlled by one in symbiosis with dark energon.

His fists were clenched atop the nearest surface. His attention was stolen by the grand window at the front of the Nemesis bridge.

He would've remained there to watch the unhindered devastation of Shockwave's latest pet, if not for the tap on his shoulder.

Starscream spun around to see Soundwave standing near him.

Ugh. He'd slipped up without the seeker noticing.

That silent visor lit up.

_"-be-ready-"_ came Megatron's distorted voice.

That seemed like an insult.

"I would be out there dispatching the autobots myself, but you heard our master-" Starscream snapped back at the recording. "I must be onboard balancing-"

It seemed that was not what the TIC was talking about. Soundwave's visor flashed again, bringing up video feed of a hall in the lower levels of the _Nemesis_.

The autobot two-wheeler was speeding down them.

Oh.

* * *

Battling the predacon was more exhausting than combating Megatron.

Even with this weapon of Prima's, it did not seem the fight was on his side. Optimus did not want to strike with the star saber unless he felt sure that it would hit its mark; the energy could cut indiscriminately across the land or the warship above or the cybertronians around if he did miss.

The predacon did not just single its focus on him, however. It noticed his autobots where they were attempting to climb aboard the _Nemesis_. The tail slammed into him and then it was gone, running, taking flight into the air and crashing into the soldiers. Optimus lifted up into a crouch. He could see the predacon flinging Bulkhead and Smokescreen, thrashing them, likely injuring them- and he could see the blue shape of Arcee succeeding in slipping into the Nemesis cargo bay.

Now wasn't the time to be proud, however. His autobots were in danger.

Optimus drove to the others; the aches across his frame were not important enough to slow him down.

Bulkhead was looking worn by the time he arrived. Smokescreen was sprinting around with the phase shifter while the predacon leapt and clawed at his intangible form.

There was no time to watch. Optimus dove into the fight once more.

The star saber was difficult to utilize, but it did carve into the synthetic shear of one of the predacon's wings. The creature screeched and swung at him. One paw knocked him back; the other hit at a different angle, crashing against his left leg. Metal crumpled. That was an ache he could not ignore; one that would no doubt keep him from transforming.

The two others jumped on the predacon while it was distracted. It shook its body and they were flung off.

_«Optimus!»_ Arcee's voice commed urgently. He ducked beneath a swipe that could have cleaved his body in two before she continued. _«I have it- I have the forge!»_

The Prime redirected another blow from the predacon.

_«Good work»_ he responded. _«Autobots, regroup and fall back.»_

The creature made a deep whine. Gold bloomed in its chest, rising up its neck- the trio scattered before the fire fell down to scorch the ground.

It turned while it breathed out the plume of heat. All three autobots moved; Bulkhead drove, Smokescreen dove under the ground with the phase shifter, and Optimus tried to run as fast as he could with his limp.

They were under the shadow of the _Nemesis_ now; the warship was directly over the omega lock and surrounding land (where the fight commenced). Jet vehicons had dropped to assist in the fight, but they had not provided much interference. There was not much they could do without running into the attacks both parties below leveled on each other.

The next cybertronian to drop from the warship lacked the nervousness holding the drones back. The golden metal of the forge dropped besides her. Arcee was sliding down one of the cranes lifting the lock into the warship. The forge was held in one servo while her other cut down the crane side; its weight dragging her down, her servo's friction slowing the fall.

The predacon turned its attention to her as well. Its claws scrambled over the ground as it started towards her.

Optimus's next reaction was instinctual. He lunged forward on his uninjured leg and thrusted with the star saber. Its energy entered the air, flew towards its target, and, with a deafening screech from the predacon, landed.

The creature fell to its side and writhed. The cut ran along its upper belly and lower chest. Not lethal, but debilitating. Getting hit by any part of its flailing body would be debilitating as well.

Bulkhead had reached Arcee's side and taken a hold of forge. They were running from laser fire. With the predacon down, the vehicons had lost their wary fear. The underside cannons of the _Nemesis_ pointed down at them.

There was only one option that was satisfactory. While he had the opening to strike at the warship itself, he would not endanger his soldiers by having them remain where the crowd of airborne decepticons could kill them as he spent time disabling the Nemesis. That was the reasoning he told himself, at least. _«Autobots»_ Optimus moved for them. _«Retreat»_

He dragged his injured leg behind him and started his limping run back to the canyon ridge they'd begun this mission surveying in.

If it wasn't for Smokescreen grabbing his arm and shifting him below the ground of the Sea of Rust, his handicap would likely have left him to the glassing fires of the _Nemesis_'s cannons.

* * *

If he had been enjoying the feeling of control over the warship before, he was most certainly not now.

No, Starscream was rather unhappy. Distressed, even, as words would have it.

He was well and truly fragged now.

Oh, oh, he was doomed- he would be slagged for sure.

In the midst of this fear, the seeker didn't even find time to mock the situation (as in, mock Megatron for somehow getting them into this mess). Starscream was far too preoccupied with thinking about how wrong everything had gone.

First and foremost, it was gone. He'd been so distracted with the battle outside that an autobot had come on board. After being alerted to her presence, Starscream had yelled for an immediate bridge. Soundwave had obliged._ At the least_ (if he was to dig around for positives about the situation), he had obliged. Shockwave was completely useless on the bridge, but the TIC was as satisfactory as always.

Which wasn't enough, because the world was currently out to frag him over. When he'd ran from the bridge to the vault hall, the autobot was already there.

Arcee looked at him as though surprised he was there. Truth be told, Starscream spent valuable seconds looking back because his mind _just couldn't grasp_ how bizarre this cycle had become.

And then he got his head back into the moment and fired a missile at the accursed autobot.

She slipped out of its trajectory. The door beyond her did not.

That, out of all the cycle's events, stung his pride the most. And the moment Megatron recognized what had destroyed the door of the vault, Starscream was scrap metal.

Of course, Arcee didn't pause to consider how devastating the moment was. She kicked out at his head and his vision offlined. A moment later and he rebooted on the ground of the hall. There was green light bathing around him. A pair of slim pedes entered his field of view and Starscream felt a mixture of relief that they weren't the right size to be a certain warlord's and worry that they weren't, in fact, the autobot's. It would've been better if they had been; that would mean she was still around. And if she was around, the forge was too.

Soundwave had lifted him up from the ground without a word. Starscream wrestled himself out of the hold, pointing down the hall. "The autobot is getting away!" he spat.

The other con didn't seem to register it. He pointed at the still open groundbridge and, still a bit dazed from Arcee's blow to his cranium, Starscream automatically obeyed the gesture.

From the bridge, he watched the rest of the disaster unfold. The predacon was crawling over the ground towards the fleeing autobots (or the two visible in vehicle mode). A trail of greasy fluids followed its snaking movements. Disgusting, Starscream thought as he wiped away the energon leaking from his head. It dripped off his arm to the floor of the Nemesis while Starscream internally berated the beast outside for being so sloppy.

Little good _that_ 'superweapon' apparently was. He said as much while he stood watching Shockwave carefully repair his abomination.

It was better he talked about how disgustingly weak the failure of the predacon was than to think about his own ominous situation. Every moment that passed made the dread of Megatron's return grow.

He felt the insatiable urge to flee the decepticons once again. Surely being a rogue had been preferable to the almost inevitable offlining approaching him now.

* * *

Wheeljack had almost left his post.

The comms kept lighting up with worrisome words belaying battle and danger and-

And he was here while the others were fighting. He was here and couldn't touch their battle at all from this location.

He would have to say he sat aside uselessly if one or more of them died to that predacon thing's claws.

Wheeljack liked to fit in one of two options: either being in the front and center of a battle, or far enough away from it that those left behind didn't weigh on him.

Stuck here, he could do neither. The Prime had told him to stay put here and given fair reasons. That meant no running into the fight and no running away either.

He'd held himself in for as long as he could. Then the wrecker had exited the underground. He made it as far as the surface before his rebellion came to an end. Not because of any regrets or duty or anything, but just cause the others were back. All four of them.

All four and the relic they'd been after.

Which led to the now: the five autobots were back in the base underground. Arcee kept trying to look at the Prime's leg, but Optimus was busy addressing them all and wouldn't give her the chance to get a good inspection of the crushed metal.

"You four showed exemplary bravery and single focus," he was saying proudly.

Praise made Wheeljack uncomfortable. He wasn't used to it coming without having been pried out. The wrecker shifted restlessly.

"Without your good work, I believe we would have failed today."

Yeah. It was just coming without any sort of prying. Good old Magnus would die before doing that.

"Wheeljack," Optimus looked at him. The wrecker jolted. "Use the long ranged comm system to contact Ratchet on Earth."

The unusual order was unexpected enough that Wheeljack had obeyed before even realizing what had been asked.

"Ratchet-" the big mech spoke once the connection came through.

There was a burst of static and then the medic asked: _«Optimus?»_

He sounded worn out. Wheeljack would bet that he hadn't been taking proper care of himself. Didn't seem like Ratchet ever did, since he wasted all his time worrying over other people.

"We have the forge of Solus Prime in our possession," Optimus said softly. "Our mission was a success."

There was a rasp. Then Ratchet spoke again in little more than a whisper.

_«We won? Then...the omega lock...»_

"Still in decepticon control," the Prime sighed. "But when our team reunites, we will retake it: predacon, warship, or not."

_«I can send the others over as soon as they're done with their current mission.»_

Optimus shook his head. "No. Wait until they feel the insecticon threat is no longer menacing Earth. Then we shall rejoin them."

There was another pause. Ratchet started to speak up again-

"Stop!" Arcee interrupted, springing up from her seat. Her face was screwed in concentration, arms half up like she was caught between pointing at the roof or holding them out.

Then she let both drop and looked at the rest of them.

"Do you hear that?"

The autobots went quiet. They were underground, what did Arcee think she was hearing? Tank treads, maybe, but most cons just flew and it seemed unlikely that they'd hear jets from down...here...

Arcee was a scout for a reason.

She hadn't been wrong.

There was a faint noise out there. A faint screeching that was too alive to be a vehicle noise.

Bulkhead dropped his jaw in amazement. "No way," he said. "No way. It was half dead only a half cycle ago."

The scream wailed out again- a little louder, a little closer.

Optimus stood up onto his stable leg and frowned.

"Autobots. Prepare to relocate our base of operations."

* * *

It was really a rather uneventful flight thus far.

Lockdown spent most of his time manually piloting the _Death's Head._ It had a fully functioning autopilot; evidently, he was just trying to avoid her. Airachnid was rather amused by the apparent distaste.

Still, she would rather not lay around being bored. The femme could've stayed on Earth for that.

She entered the pilot bay; Lockdown cast a glance behind himself to see her.

"We should be at Cybertron within a cycle," he answered her preemptively, looking forward at his controls as he did so.

Strange. A trip like this would be another orn in most cybertronian vehicles.

"That quick?" Airachnid laughed.

Her own ship would've taken half an orn for the flight from Earth to Cybertron; that was with the mods she outfitted it with. Most of which had come from the aliens she'd set in her sights. A few were rather willing to give up their technological boons out of misplaced belief it would keep them alive.

"This boat is equipped with a secondary Vandarian warp engine," Lockdown said, flicking a few switches before spinning his chair to face her.

Airachnid cocked a servo on one hip. "Swindle?" she guessed.

The bounty hunter's mouth quirked.

"Who else?"

The answer was completely predictable. Little wonder his delivery of it was so blasé.

"Swindle wouldn't happen to want his loyal customer gone, would he?" Airachnid asked sweetly as she moved to approach.

That took Lockdown off guard.

"Don't worry," she said and slid up onto the dash. With a seat like that, she could lean over the mech. "It's just that I noticed you have a few fans following behind us. I caught the attention of an insecticon, though it got out of range before I could make it mine."

This time it was his turn to smile; faintly, dangerously, but it was there.

"Oh, them?" Lockdown said without concern. "They've been trying to get me long before I picked you up."

His subdued grin was met with a wide smile of her own. "Giving them false security, are you? What a delightful little game you play."

The pilots chair slid back. The bounty hunter stretched out both legs onto the dash she sat on without concern.

"Speaking of games," he started, "I would like to hear your plan for this little hunt you've started."

Plan?

It was deceptively simple and yet too complicated to fully spell out.

She knew what she wanted. She wanted five cybertronians in particular. It was a short list, really. It wouldn't matter what order Lockdown brought them in either. All he needed to do was bring them to her. That was his hunt; capture and transport without leaving a trail behind him.

Her hunt would start once she had her victims in an environment of her choosing.

Arcee would be the last. Airachnid's feud with her ran longer than her grudges with the other four. And Arcee was always so easily breakable- so unflappably stoic until the interrogator found her weak links and then? then it was sheer, delicious desperation.

Starscream had humiliated her twice on Earth. Once was enough to leave her with a grudge. Twice just meant twice the pain for him.

Breakdown lived. That was her fault with him. He lived when he should've died on that forest floor. Airachnid would be sure to make their second date the last.

Knock Out had always been insufferable and his recent team-up with Arcee only painted a personal target on his back. Besides, the pretty ones always broke down with such ugliness; it was attractive, really.

But the stoic ones...they were a real hunter's prize. Those that stayed cool under pressure avoided the easiest pitfalls in a hunt. They were a challenge. She rather liked a challenge.

And they _always_ broke; everyone could. She wasn't egotistical enough to think she couldn't (she welcomed it, in fact). But for a stoic, it involved such a shattering of pride. Arcee had been one such challenge. Soundwave would be another. For what he did during her attempted coup, she would hear him break his vow of silence and scream for her.

The ones that wore a mask and preached such superior talk-

They never thought they could be touched.

It made her think of that one group- oh yes, them. The ones that Megatron had brought in to an interrogator training session so that they could 'teach' the fine art of torture. As if they couldn't feel pain themselves. As if they were somehow superior to the rest of them. Their leader was so like Soundwave too: hiding behind a mask, being a total fawner for Megatron. Ugh, what a colossal show off. She'd hated him from the start, sneering at him from where she sat in the middle row. Next to her, Overlord had leaned forward.

_"Bet I could make him scream,"_ the phase sixer flashed her a chilling grin, seeing as she was the only bot near enough to him for such 'classroom' talk.

Honestly, Vortex was preferable to hear blab on.

But...there was something very magnetic about the phase sixer.

Maybe whatever that magnetism was what left her unsurprised at the news millennia later; Overlord had done as he'd bragged. After the war had really faded into nothing but faltered, leaderless chaos, the phase sixer had tracked down that team with their superior airs and stoic pride and ripped them apart. Just as they typically did for their own victims, he videoed it all and sent it across faction communication lines. Airachnid had truly enjoyed the tapes. Further proof that the most cold, magnanimous mech's shattered.

She also made a mental note to never drop into any of Overlord's hunting grounds. Her scuffle with Vortex had been fun enough, but it got too near the border of losing control. There wasn't a chance in the pit an interaction with him would end well for her. Overlord and Airachnid were far too familiar- neither let a pet go alive.

Her recent little hunts had seemed like failures, but all they did was lull her victims into false security. They started taking her for granted. They would think she was defeated and left hiding in some hole on Earth and in reality she would be preparing a proper welcome environment for the pets Lockdown brought her.

"With everything Swindle has made sure you're so equipped with-" Airachnid finally spoke up, trailing a few claws along the pedes Lockdown had so insultingly presented her seat with. "-I imagine you can track all five down to wherever they might be hiding on the planet."

The femme leaned forward until her upper body was almost parallel with his extended legs.

"So it won't be too hard for you to...subdue them and transport them to me. Will it?"

He kicked her off the dash. Airachnid laughed from the ground where her additional limbs had bent incorrectly beneath her fall.

"I'll manage," he said, reaching down to tug her upright again. The bounty hunter let her trail her servos down his neck once he'd brought her standing by his chair, despite the threat behind the mocking intimacy.

"I'm sure you will," she cooed.

They were both rather thorough about finishing what they started. Call it stubborn pride. She had no qualms with stubborn pride so long as it was just her own. On anyone else, and Airachnid would wish to do what Overlord had recorded himself doing: shut that irritating pride up forever.


	64. Band-Aids On, Band-Aids Off

The little toy putted its way forward.

The bridge around it roared louder than Raf had ever heard it go before. Part of that was probably because it was a spacebridge now. They'd been said to be more 'intense'. And a part of it was probably the fuel it was running on.

Raf watched the car get swallowed completely in the green and bid it goodbye. It had been a good toy. Helped keep him occupied on many boring or sad days. Probably was scrap metal in a different dimension now.

He made sure not to spread that lack of confidence to Ratchet. The medic seemed upset enough as it was. Not that he showed that to Raf. There was extra care taken to avoid showing whatever he was upset about to Raf.

There always was, even on Ratchet's worst days.

The bridge powered down. Raf set his remote aside and looked up at the medic.

"I'll empty it of the synthetic energon now," Ratchet explained while he set to work doing just that. The words were just for his benefit.

That was another thing he'd miss: Ratchet was always really nice to him. He always made sure Raf understood what they were doing, but it wasn't patronizing. It didn't feel like an insult. It was complimenting his intelligence, actually; it knew he was smart enough to keep up with what was being explained.

Raf knew how it felt to miss Bee, at least for the initial few days. His friend's sudden departure showed him how easily the people and interactions he took a bit for granted could just...leave.

And Ratchet had always seemed the most desperate to return to his homeworld. It was pretty much inevitable that he'd be going back there once the place had been restored.

"Want me to trigger a system flush?" Raf asked, scrambling up the stairs to where he'd set his laptop.

The cybertronian backed away from the main fuel tank with his arms full of containers.

"Hopefully the solvent won't mix poorly with the synthetic energon," Ratchet shook his head and then gave him a nod. "Go ahead."

The laptop he had woven into all the base's system quickly pulled up the correct command. After executing it, Raf just watched the tubing flex next to the pipes leading in and out of the bridge fuel tank.

Once it had been washed free of any remaining synth-en, Ratchet filled it with energon from a cube he'd brought to their workspace.

Raf worried that there weren't many more of those cubes left in storage here. It was only slightly relieving that the team (or rather, the team currently here) had come back from the big insecticon hive with the energon they'd found there.

There was a slight pause before Ratchet opened the bridge again. Both flinched, half expecting it to blow up in their faces.

The vortex was calm. It did not, in fact, 'blow up'.

"Stay here," Ratchet told him and cautiously slipped into the bridge.

The flinch came again; this time, it remained as a worried cringe that only alleviated when the medic appeared again. Ratchet had lost some of that tense upset, pausing to deactivate the bridge, and then striding over to him. He flipped his servo over and opened his fingers so that Raf could see the little toy sitting unharmed on his palm.

"Ratchet!" the boy exclaimed, standing up and letting his laptop sit alone on the catwalk. "It worked! Does this mean..?"

"The formula is still too unstable to be used as a replacement for energon in a living being," Ratchet answered. A moment later and he added: "But our first experiment for its use fueling the spacebridge is a success."

Of course, as with all experiments (especially one as sensitive as this; if the synth-en could damage the bridge, then the four bots being sent to Cybertron sometime soon would pay for their haste), they had to conduct more.

The amount of energon spent for those return trips made Raf nervous. Once again, he was glad the team had found some at the insecticon cave.

Speaking of the team...

"Do you know how long Bee and the others will be here?" Raf asked a few hours later when they were finished. His legs waved in the air off the catwalk. Ratchet was standing beside the main monitor's controls; that seemed to be his go-to workspace when he was alright with being interrupted with talk. If he _didn't_ want interruptions, Ratchet was surprisingly good at hiding.

"I spoke with Optimus before you came by," the medic answered. "Depending on what Ultra Magnus learns from his meeting with agent Fowler, I hope to send them back tonight."

It was sad news, but Raf understood why. He knew Bee had to get back to Optimus, had to help- had to leave again. Just like Ratchet would one day when Cybertron was fixed.

He wondered if the medic would ever leave him emails like Bee had.

He hoped so.

"I...imagine-" Ratchet looked away pointedly. "...the others will want to swing by today to say goodbye."

They definitely would.

"Yeah," Raf said.

The discomfort surrounding the medic was obviously coming from how all the humans had acted when they'd been told by him that their family had disappeared to a different planet overnight.

"Hey," he tried to ease that discomfort a bit. "What about you? I'd rather get a chance to stay here a while; are you too busy or can I?"

The cybertronian looked back his way finally.

"I would think so," the mech said. "You won't be in my way. I will be operating on Breakdown's optic at some point this cycle, if they are to return to Cybertron soon."

A surgery! The human hadn't had a chance to watch many of those. While the medic had been teaching him cybertronian glyphs and code, he still hadn't been exposed much to the anatomical.

"Can I watch?" Raf asked nervously (a part of him always worried his curiosity would one day be patronized or denied).

Ratchet gave him a smile.

* * *

Laying down on this berth made him uncomfortable.

The first time he'd done it, he'd come online restrained.

That memory soured any other time since then that he'd been forced to get on top it. Breakdown did not like restraints. He especially didn't like waking up in them.

Not that it could ever be that enjoyable to wake up to, but after M.E.C.H. he...well. It was enough to say he didn't like finding himself in them.

All his other times on it weren't much fun either. That had all been back when he hated everything about this; having a medic that wasn't Knock Out, having to play nice with autobots, having a squishy watch his physical therapy- ugh.

Most of that just kinda...faded away before now. The exception was the medic.

He did not like being in Ratchet's medbay, on Ratchet's medberth, with Ratchet's servos hooking him up to basic support.

Breakdown clamped down on that dislike the same way his plating had clamped shut tight in discomfort.

This was his plan. He'd made this plan. He'd, his, this- no one was forcing him to lay here on a berth that made him think of restraints and sick fear.

He'd gone to Knock Out before coming here. Upon their return to base from another unsuccessful run, Ratchet had commed him. Told him that his window of time was open now and probably wouldn't be after.

With that time press, he'd found Knock Out where he was talking to Ultra Magnus and tried to bring the subject of optics up again. Tried. Maybe he just hadn't been clear enough. Maybe that was all it was. Maybe he'd show up with the patch gone and Knock Out would react with confused hurt because he hadn't realized Breakdown was giving him a roundabout request-

He tried to swallow back the maybes and walked to Ratchet's small medbay.

And now he was trying not shift in a medbay far too cramped and messy to ever belong to Knock Out (and, by connection, him) while a medic far too blocky and old to ever be Knock Out stood over him.

"An operation to the face, no matter how simple, is best done to mech's in stasis," Ratchet frowned down at him.

Breakdown shifted a bit on the berth again despite himself.

"Yeah. Fine."

Ratchet was in his medical overrides quickly after that. All the blue mech had time to think was that he was faster at getting a bot out than he or Knock Out were.

* * *

There was not much he could do to prepare the medbay for an operation any more than it was already prepared. XL-2M99 made a show of reorganizing a few important pieces of equipment just to show he was following the order to 'prepare', and then sat down stiffly in wait.

And waited.

Evidently, the warlord's mission was not one that would go quickly.

When XL-3T09 appeared, he almost accepted the invitation to visit a recreation room with the flyer. The fear of not being in here, as 'ready' as possible, kept him cemented to his seat.

XL-3T09 was, of course, displeased. He teased. XL-2M99 pointed out the welds on the flyer's chest.

"That was uninterested, unfocused; imagine what will happen to me if _I'm_ purposefully a target."

The way the other flinched betrayed how far in that actually cut (metaphorically, as far into his chest as Megatron's hit had gone). But the flyer didn't let that seep into his voice.

"Just a for a breem?" XL-3T09 tempted. "Just a little time to spare for your old friends? You haven't come to the lounge since that time Dreadwing barged in to interrupt us all."

It was probably that guilt trip that made XL-2M99 hesitantly comply.

"As soon as it sounds like Lord Megatron is back, I'm leaving," he hissed when they were standing outside the door. XL-3T09 squeezed his arm.

"I got it," the flyer whispered back. "And I know- I know this is stupid of me. But after what happened recently, I just. I can't stop thinking about how I almost _died_. And I know it could happen again soon, so I wanted to make sure I got you in here before I almost fade out again."

The door slid open. XL-3T09 kept the hold on his arm, steering the medic over to one of the vehicons filling a cube. Before any questions could come on his comment, XL-2M99 discovered what it was so apparently important in this room.

"Dear doctor-" the flyer pointed at him and then to the vehicon who had turned away from the dispensaries to face them. "-meet Talos."

The grounder reached out. XL-2M99 had to force his own to lift and clasp the stranger's forearm; his shocked mind was busy trying to catch up to the situation.

Despite having heard it was coming, hearing a drone introduced with something other than their assigned, sparkless designation had never felt like something tangible approaching through reality.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the vehicons speaking quietly amidst the lively noise of the recreation room, the interaction was easily heard. It never developed to be a long conversation; XL-5N1 was in the middle of explaining the human origin of his chosen name when the shipwide alarms were sent out.

The motivation behind the name almost interested Soundwave. It was subtly prideful; chosen from the first golem to appear in human mythology. Chosen as though XL-5N1 thought he was the first vehicon to give himself a name.

It was far from the truth. There were multiple instances of such occurrences in the short history since Shockwave first began to manufacture vehicons. A mercenary here, a pacifist there- all wiped clean from the decepticon databases as though they and their functional rebellion had never occurred.

Soundwave was one of the few who knew otherwise. He had been responsible for cleaning such records in a majority of those cases. Starscream (as that had been his commander at the time; the vehicons began their widespread use only shortly before Lord Megatron had departed in search of an army) had hated any sign of second guessing on the drone army's part. Lord Megatron hardly seemed to realize they were capable of doing so. Since it was once again Lord Megatron serving as his commander, Soundwave felt that he should not prioritize dealings with this 'Talos' or any of the others that chose a secret name. So long as it did not impede the function of his Lord's army, it would merely be recorded and any conversations bordering treason would be closely listened to.

He put it aside when the _Nemesis_ caught sight of the battle occurring near the omega lock. There was much he was tasked with observing at once; no one focus could steal attention.

When the battle concluded in failure, Soundwave was still busy watching through every lens, _listening_.

He did not look forward to what events would unfold upon Lord Megatron's return.

But he would comply with what the warlord chose to do. He always would.

As expected, Lord Megatron was furious. They met him on the flight deck. When Lord Megatron and Dreadwing transformed to their pedes (a red arm held in the blue seeker's grasp), they could see the welcoming committee.

Starscream. Standing so hunched, barely keeping his ground in front of his technical subordinates.

Shockwave. Standing beside his predacon, the beast repaired to working condition.

The predacon. Laying beneath the gun arm of its creator, watching Lord Megatron intently.

Soundwave. Not, as he preferred, staying in the shadows, but standing directly behind Starscream.

It was meant as a silent form of language. A posture to inform Lord Megatron to consider closely what his reaction to the unhappy news would be.

Should it be to rip apart half his high command, Soundwave would accept. He would defer to that choice.

But he hoped to spread his silent message:

_Officers: Useful._

Less use dead. All of the dead were useless.

Lord Megatron looked at them.

"What is this?" he asked carefully.

That was not his answer to deliver. Soundwave waited.

With unusual hesitance for a mech well known for rashness, Starscream started. "My liege-it-it's-while you were gone, the autobots thought to attack-um-Shockwave's beast fought-not well, so-...and we tried!"

He glanced around each of the others with a nervous smile. "O-yes, we met their force-best we could with wh-"

The sputtering was interrupted.

"Spit it _out_," Lord Megatron hissed.

Millennia at his side told Soundwave that the warlord could sense incoming bad news. The dread manifested as impatience, anger. So many of his reactions did.

The command sent Starscream's plating clattering around the knee joints. To everyone's advantage, they did not collapse. In the moment, grovelling would likely incur more wrath than it would appeasement from their Lord.

Head dropping down, the seeker squeaked: "They took the forge."

For one brief moment, Lord Megatron just stared- face impassive, mouth clamped shut, optics beginning to blaze.

A calm like that could never last.

Standing right beside him as a bodyguard, Dreadwing became an apparent cumbersome obstacle. Lord Megatron shoved him away so that his path was clear to stomp over to the other seeker.

Predictably, Starscream stepped back; his escape made it no further than hitting against Soundwave where the mech stood behind him. Dreadwing was feeling at his jaw, posture turned aside from the warlord in the subtlest displeasure or fear. Even Shockwave made a small step back away from such obviously untamed wrath. Only Soundwave remained motionless.

"You-"

Soundwave watched his Lord blankly.

"-_lost_-"

The warlord caught sight of his reflection, warped but visible on his third's blank visor.

"-the-"

He turned sharply from his mirror, reaching out to slam both servos onto his air commander's shoulders.

"**-_forge_**?"

Shaking hard, he seemed to try to reign himself in. His vents, buried beneath dense kaonite armor, were audibly overworking. Their sounds built into a roar, Lord Megatron throwing the seeker aside towards where Dreadwing was still feeling at his faceplate. Their leader did not look back at either; he strode to Shockwave.

"And you?" he growled. "This new clone of yours didn't manage to prevent the autobots from escaping with _our_ _most valuable relic?_"

The scientist had already recovered from his earlier apprehension. He stood still in front of the seething judgement.

"It was disabled by a strike from Optimus Prime's weapon."

"Oh?" Lord Megatron smirked. He glanced back at Soundwave with the expression; as though they were old companions sharing a particularly amusing inside joke. "That weapon? The one I was _trying_ to find a counter for so that he could no longer hold us at his ever weakening mercies?"

Shockwave tilted his head downward in deference.

"It is a failure on all those you have left behind," the scientist said.

A way to appeal by admitting to failure while also being a subtle attempt to deflect blame. For a shadowplay victim, he was still remarkably willing to indulge in the mortal trait of shifting consequences to another. A group could not feel the pangs of hurt pride in the undistilled way of an individual. _Praise only deserves to go to me. But if it is punishment, it deserves to go to us._

"Is it? Then tell me: if your beast will not triumph against the autobots, then _what good is it_?" Lord Megatron shouted. He pointed at the predacon, which tracked the movement back to the warlord's face slowly. Thoughtfully, even.

It was intelligent. No beastly appearance could disguise intelligence from Soundwave. Few of his symbiotes had been mech frames, but all were alive. _Had been_ alive.

The predacon gave out a low growl. It moved towards Lord Megatron and Soundwave leaned ever slightly forward in preparation. But it didn't attack. It merely shoved its way past him to stand, body lowered, by the edge of the flight deck and growl into the air.

"The autobots," Shockwave explained. "The predacon knows where they are now."

Its head swayed back and looked again at Lord Megatron.

_Waiting._

This time, the motion seemed to be understood. Lord Megatron smiled. His optics blazed. He was still so furious.

"Get on, then," he told the predacon. As soon as the permission had been granted, recently repaired wings unfolded slowly. Majestically. So unlike the stiff metal of Laserbeak's wings. They flexed up in full and then the predacon slid forward off the ship.

Its wings caught the air, turning its fall into a sharp, gliding spiral.

Lord Megatron watched it fly before turning on his officers.

"Well, Starscream?" he growled. "Our military asset is your responsibility. Your _only_ responsibility at this moment, I might add. The others were revoked since you lost me our key to success."

The seeker's jaw wavered, caught between offense and relief and whatever else he felt.

"Be grateful you keep any at all-" Lord Megatron seethed.

It was a satisfactory response. Soundwave would rather not see another asset to the cause thrown away in a fit of justified anger.

Starscream didn't straighten out of his wilted posture. "Th-thank you-" he muttered and tore into the air before any more reprimands or words could come.

"Now."

His Lord moved nearer to him. "Soundwave. Was the predacon satisfactory in battle?"

Clips of the battle flashed on his visor. The creature crushing the Prime's leg. Flinging the autobots aside when they attempted to climb into the _Nemesis_ (or flinging the two that did not make it).

He nodded once when the recorded images stopped playing.

"Alright then-" the other flashed dentae before he turned back to the scientist. "Shockwave. Perhaps one creature cannot kill all of the autobots, but its tracking ability and continued survival are admittingly useful."

Somehow, Soundwave knew what would be said next before it inevitably came.

"What would you say of an army?"

* * *

_Optic: Online_

_Optics: Online_

_Left Optic: Functional?_

_Rebooting_

_Left Optic: Present, Functional_

_Warning: Probable Disorientation. Full Vision Predicted At 80%. Adjustments: Required._

Lovely. Breakdown bit back a groan at the stream of information. His processor was panicking over having to actually register the sensation of a movable optic in the gap M.E.C.H. had left behind.

Just wait 'til it had to register the visual input. Stupid lazy processor thought it could just atrophy all sections related to his right optic? Sucks for it.

And for him, since it was his processor after all.

Both (both! he'd gotten so used to thinking in the singular with his vision) of his optics were offline. The new pane in front of the optic repair itched against the plates surrounding it. They'd grown used to the patch laying _over_ them; not this lens digging _into_ them.

When the rest of him had come out of stasis, the aware enough part of his mind kept the optics off. He had to get used to the physical feeling first. Sight could come later.

The doctor responsible didn't seem to want to let that happen. Breakdown felt his servo on his shoulder; steady, like any medic's would be. Decisively not Knock Out's.

The conversation from a few cycles before returned to whisper all those thoughts about not having anything outside one figure: no friends, no life, no support.

He could get over the not-Knock Out-ness of a different medic's servo. He could.

"Your readings are perfect," Ratchet said. "I know you're keeping those offline on purpose; it's smart, but no point waiting too long. Your processor is going to feel overwhelmed by the additional sensory input. It could overstress input from your other sensory systems from anywhere between less than a breem and over a stellar cycle. Some frames adjust faster than others."

"Uh-" he started up.

"Don't panic," the medic cut him off. "I was getting to that. Since you'll need to be combat capable, you can't afford to have less than 85% with all other sensory input. If your processor doesn't clear before you depart tonight, come back to me and I'll give you a few patching programs to dull the overwork. Or get Knock Out to. He should be capable of doing that."

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that. Breakdown always felt too prideful to accept patching programs. They were such...provisional fixes that tended to only go to the weak guys who couldn't handle not operating at their full strength.

"Alright," he replied.

Now. He'd waited long enough.

Breakdown onlined his optics.

The one on the left responded immediately. The one on the right had a stall before it whirred to life.

Scrap. That wasn't pleasant. The room swam and Breakdown was glad he'd stayed sitting on the berth. Audials cut down 15%. His frame went unfeeling for a second before tactile input returned.

He sat on that berth for a good breem just waiting for the ache in his processor to fade away.

"I, uh."

As if he were a psychic or something, Ratchet came over. "I'll administer a patch now," he offered in a way that obviously portrayed what he thought was the best choice.

Breakdown let it happen. The fake return to 'normal' forced its way over his processor. When the code had settled over his mind, he was left with the false sensation that his processor was functioning just as it had pre-M.E.C.H.: so used to perfect input from all sensory systems that it didn't even stress over having all online.

He got up from the berth and was satisfied to notice the patch kept the movement from feeling anything but normal. He guessed that made him weak now. To his surprise, the thought bothered him less than his experience told him it should.

"Here." Ratchet brought his attention over; the old medic was extending a plate reflective enough to serve as a mirror.

Taking it, Breakdown looked at himself.

It wasn't world-endingly bad. The new yellow lens was paler than the one on his left, but hopefully not by a degree that would make Knock Out have sudden spark failure. The patch he'd gotten on the decepticon warship was gone.

He handed the plate back and stared at the medic awkwardly after he'd taken it.

"Thanks?" Breakdown tried.

It wasn't that the word was that strange to him (Knock Out loved being told it and the vehicon troops always tended to get really excited when thanked), but his uncomfortable distaste for what Ratchet stood for made it feel more half-sparked than a thanks should be.

Ratchet had already moved on to cleaning up. He seemed to be as uncomfortable around the nurse as Breakdown was around him.

If Knock Out were here-

Wait, stop- the point was to be here without him. The point was to not require Knock Out to be his social crutch. Sure, he and Ratchet seemed like they'd be more at ease with the smaller medic around to smooth everything, but...

"Go on, go show it off," the older medic waved him out. There was a little grin on the side of his mouth that was visible to Breakdown at this angle.

He'd helped clean up the rest of the mess from the operation and then gotten out of there. Before he'd even left, the human up on the catwalk had started asking Ratchet all sorts of questions. The audience member had been 'okayed' by Breakdown before he'd gotten put into stasis. Much as the idea of being watched in stasis by a fleshy made him uneasy, it had reminded him a bit of how June would come watch and ask questions about his repairs after Airachnid. The littlest human hardly seemed any more menacing than her.

Speaking of the human nurse-

The whole little group of organics was around when he left the medbay. They were running around, being loud, and overall trying to enjoy the cybertronian presence before it left. Bumblebee and Knock Out got corralled by Jack and Miko into racing with the humans inside outside the base. When the four left, the base suddenly felt a whole lot more quiet.

He wanted to go out and watch the stupid race (it was always fun to watch those), but first he had a fleshy of his own to find.

Breakdown found June where she was talking with Ultra Magnus and Fowler (apparently oblivious to how her youngling was out doing something she would probably not be alright with). The other nurse looked up at him when he walked over, making an obvious double take at his lack of opticpatch.

"While everyone else is busy, you wanna come talk with me?" he repeated what Bumblebee had asked him back on the day of that uncomfortable conversation.

June smiled.

A few minutes later and they were sitting on the floor of the training room while Breakdown attempted to get his thoughts in the air.

There wasn't much time on Earth to do that left.


	65. I Think I've Messed Up

_AN- Predaking still thinks of himself as an 'it'. His POV uses this accordingly._

* * *

The prey had dropped their burrow on it.

Base. They'd called it a base, not a burrow. It served its purpose as any cave or spire could; protection, from enemies and environment.

Perhaps their feeble enemies, that is. Their protections could not deter a great hunter.

Still, having the underground halls topple on top of its body was far from ideal. It was far from painful, but it allowed the prey to get away again.

Little matter. They could not hide from it.

None could hide from the might its race innately carried.

It thought of the hunts of old. Golden flashes, disconnected memories.

A mech looking rather like his current leader in size and sharp style; clad in white, optics of white, staring with impassioned hostility. Staring at it? In the memories, it was so.

Other members of its great race roaming the land- this land, but oh so alive where this land was dead...as was that race. It had never met them and yet knew them in their entirety. It felt that it should know them.

Hunts. Their thrill. The challenging strategies.

The warriors flying in the air, singing over the skies, washing in warmth.

And more warmth. A great heat, starting, searing, drawing near- it bathed the memories in gold but such grew painful the later the memories it tried to decipher.

But before that great agony

(_cataclysm_, his creator and the other decepticons had said; the great cataclysm, they'd named again and again as they claimed its race, the predacons, had been extinguished by it)

there was peace. Battles. Challenges.

All the warriors were thrilling to remember. Though it could not find its emotions tied with any of their faces or frames, it admired their brutal ability. There was a carnal fascination to their fluid movements, their defeat of weaker beings, their dangerous flame.

And the greatest warrior that it saw from these flashing memories was the one shrouded in gold. It saw this one in reflective liquid, shining metal, admiring its powerful form.

This one in particular was both more present and more riveting. It was majestic. It was familiar.

It was a he. A king. He sought out others and dominated their lands. He brought territory under him. The golden starlight was always so furiously glinting on his ornamented plating in these memories; its unbending luminescence would meet his optics and fail to stare him down.

This was a leader a star could not touch. The other predacons could not touch. If all it had were those memories, it'd have thought him invincible.

But memories were not forced chronologically. It knew that this invincible pride had once been subdued and never again regained its former vigor. Before a rogue star came too close to their own, seared their world, made all lit in painful heat- before then, the untouchable predacon had already learned to submit. From what it gathered from the flashes, this inspiring king had crawled below the surface to hide from celestial danger. It was shameful. It was survival. And he had lived. Both through the event that killed so many and through the superior attacks of that other warrior.

The only that stood against the monarch.

Another warrior, but one of a weaker species. Shining white, almost silver, almost blue-

a blue like the weapon pulsing in his grip. A sword that pointed at the golden king before a battle began.

It matched _this sword_ from the memories to_ this sword_ being used against it so recently in battle. They were the same weapon.

And it had the uncanny feeling that _this sword_ had beaten it before.

That it had stuck in its chest and pulsed with excruciating energy and forced out words of truce to the shining warrior above to keep that blade from stealing life.

The feeling of deja vu from this image only served to unease it further.

That memory- the defeat, the truce, the grudging respect-

it belonged to the great golden warrior.

But surely if it was that warrior, that monarch, it would remember being so. It would have all these gaps in memory filled out rather than feeling like a spectator. A spectator that pieced together what it could, but could not access the full story any more than it could feel connected emotion to the faces flashing by.

The brothers. It may not know them personally

(despite the deja vu)

but it still wished to do as the great warrior in the memories did: fly with his brethren, sing from the air, feel the beat of their familiar wings by him...this stranger that logic told it was itself knew of the unreachable joys of those companions.

What happened to all those brothers?

What happened to

(the king, that grand, glorious, vicious monarch)

_him?_

It wanted so badly to know. To distill the meaningless memories into something clear; into answers.

The warship of his current lord would have to do. If it could not find the answers from its fragmented ghost-memories and they were not shared by its creator, then it must seek elsewhere.

This warship had databases of knowledge. It had seen its creator using them.

It had also recently heard its creator called a word, never directed at another. Shockwave. So it was a name belonging solely to him. It knew what a name was.

It remembered a name. Not _what_ that name was, but it remembered the king _having_ one. And that warrior who'd gone up against him- they'd had a name as well. It couldn't remember theirs either; something- the unhappy sense that faded the more it concentrated on it- implied it was similar to the grand life-giver. It could not remember that life-giver's name either.

It wished it knew why Shockwave had not told it his name or the names in these dream-like memories. If it had full concentration on the moment, then it would be a better warrior. A divided mind could not fully strategize.

The army did not seem to believe it capable of strategizing, however. So perhaps its creator had not either.

The thought did not appeal to it.

If this army could just know-

If they could understand its confusion, its desires for answers, its strive to become their greatest asset- surely they would give those answers up.

But it had not yet found a way to let them understand.

When it tore free of the rubble its prey dumped atop it and flew towards the warship again, it contemplated this further. Upon landing, it approached the one sent with it. The smaller cybertronian fled out of its proximity. When he turned, it was only to pass on biting words that turned into hesitant whines when the main door failed to open fast enough. It stepped closer to the seeker and was met by the onslaught of signals emanating from him.

The mech's field was thick with tension, disgust, fear. It wondered if he knew how much information he was providing through his field. It wondered if he even knew such a field existed. If any of them knew, let alone could sense them as it did. In most likelihood, they did not. If they did, they would've read its confusion and provided answers already. Or perhaps grown angry that it spent time confused. The leader did not seem to appreciate anything but total confidence. He had hurt (or threatened to hurt in his own wild yet incomplete field in a way the others seemed to recognize even without properly reading such signals) those other mechs. He had hurt its creator, or almost did at the least. Shockwave's field was also incomplete. It did not betray true hurt or energy. The predacon had not even realized how much more igniting a cybertronian could be because it had always assumed all mech's to be like its creator. The vividness of the others, when they had first arrived, was _wonderful_. It had brought on whole new memories it had previously not had access to. Most of the hunting memories came first

(or not, or not, because it had hunted before the current prey, yet it hadn't, but _he_ had)

after this exposure to the inciting sense of being so opened and bared in anyone other than Shockwave.

The door did open then and all that haughty distaste returned again once Starscream had the safety of retreat available. He disappeared and the door slid shut.

The predacon couldn't say it looked forward to seeing _that one_ again. All the better that door stay shut.

It moved to the screen besides the door and looked at it quizzically. The text, the controls- they weren't alien. They were the same used in Shockwave's caves.

And it had seen those used often enough.

The monitor was easy to unlock. And all the secrets of both this ship and these cybertronian peoples were laid bare before it.

* * *

There was something uncanny about this entire situation.

That's what Breakdown _could_ decipher.

There was an odd sense of limbo about this all.

Before the surgery, he'd sat on the berth's edge looking over the little scrappy optic held in his servos. The decepticons wanted to cover mistakes in a patch that revealed and showcased the presence of a failure. The autobots said they wanted to embrace mistakes in a way that let them 'grow'.

Breakdown wondered if this 'grow' thing was just another way of saying change. He hoped it was. Change was something he'd somehow done.

Grow...that he didn't know. He didn't know what it really meant, so he couldn't tell if he'd done any.

It'd be nice to know. Nice to just get the patch off and get bright allspark-blue optics and a stupid red badge and just wear a grin forever-

It was less nice to avoid that. It was less easy too. But the boss...back at the start, that's what he'd wanted. Breakdown had told Knock Out after only a few cycles that he'd do the whole autobot shebang with him; Optimus had told him to only do that if he wanted to and sent him right back to being a neutral.

So far as he could tell, being a badgeless really was the most honest loyalty he could show.

But being neutral stuck him in a middle ground:

The decepticons wanted to cover mistakes in a patch that revealed and showcased the presence of a failure. They were called _sick_ and _evil_ or, at the nicest, _'bad people'_. Bad people apparently were the type to try to squish squishies with pillars to get a leg up on an enemy or raise an army of the undead. And Breakdown wasn't that type anymore.

The autobots said they wanted to embrace mistakes in a way that let them 'grow'. They were called _soft_ and _moral_ and, in simplest terms, the _'good guys '_. They wanted to protect all life and made a big show of morals that he didn't know if he'd ever understood. Breakdown wasn't that either.

So, what? He was stuck in the middle? A paler shade of red? He wasn't 'bad' and he wasn't 'good' and damn it all he just wanted to belong in one or the other.

The autobots would say that was rushing it.

_There's a path to take; a path to the real you, unveiled by experience, adopt a sentient squishy and meditate and you'll see it all clearly-_ or some slag like that.

Was his path gonna lead him to one concrete or the other?

...the idea scared him, but Breakdown had the feeling it _wouldn't_. He hadn't been born a 'good guy' anymore than Knock Out had. Or so he was pretty sure.

But if Knock Out wore the airs of change...

His head hurt trying to figure out what that meant.

He settled for getting the replacement and waking up with optics too pale a shade to be decepticon red.

* * *

"He _didn't_."

June laughed. The cybertronian sitting towering over her looked aghast. Which likely meant he was amused. In hindsight, so was she. At the moment she'd been hung up on, she'd been pissed.

"Oh, he did," she told him. "But don't worry: doctors are _never_ wrong."

That got a legitimate chuckle.

"They'd like us all to think that," Breakdown said.

"We do," June lied. "Don't we?"

Whatever she had previously thought about cybertronian medics, it seemed they weren't actually that different from human ones. The mech just confirmed that with his response. "Never," he lied as well. "Of course not. Oh Hook do I think that's a bad idea? Do I think that a different anesthesia code would be a better match for that patient's cortical grid? Well, obviously I'm just blowing exhaust out my tailpipe because _I_ didn't get all that training _you_ did."

This was too good. It was even more familiar than she'd ever have guessed.

"You mean cybertronian doctors pull the 'I trained longer, therefore do whatever I want' card too?" she asked.

He went quiet a second to think about it.

"The real docs do," he said. "Most of the con doctors never got official training though, so they can't pull that card. But I've put up with enough of those medics to know they're..."

"Insufferable?" she suggested.

Breakdown grinned. "Yeah, that. Like your pal earlier today."

Yes, his shut-down of her question had been a particularly offensive dismissal. Even an alien nurse could come to that conclusion, which spoke extra ill of Dr. Sullivan's little insult today.

"It's nice to have a proper nurse's perspective," she went on in an exaggerated professional tone.

After another moment, she went back to an earlier statement to question it. "So most of the medics you've worked under haven't had training or a-"

Ratchet had explained the old system operated under licenses, much like the U.S.'s registration.

"-license?"

The giant sitting next to her leaned back further on his elbows. "Yeah. I mean, Knock Out never got one. And I got all my training from him, so...But he had a lot of experience when he started training me and that was a while ago. A couple millennia of practice has got to be worth something for me."

It seemed reasonable to someone with a human lengthened life span. "Millennia?" June repeated. "And here I was in a four-year."

They laughed again.

Then the conversation on doctors and nurses and licenses faded away. Breakdown pushed up to a straighter seating position; he brought his elbows up from behind him to in front of him so that he could lean forward.

"We're getting out of here again," he said.

Which meant Earth. That was easy enough to understand.

"So I just was figuring, before we go...I don't know. I wanted to ask about Airachnid."

It was almost like the temperature dropped. June always figured that expression was cheesy, a cliched overreaction.

Apparently the uncomfortable chill and sweaty outbreak was a real enough set of symptoms.

"Oh?"

Even her voice had a different tone to it. It didn't belong to her. It was someone else's voice, tinny and distant, that she could hear as an observer.

"Yeah," Breakdown shrugged. "Just wanted to find out if you've been doing alright."

She could barely drive her car because she thought of an insecticon swooping down to grab it.

She had been wearing long sleeves despite the warm weather because the healing stitches on that cut.

She slept with a light on and suffered through the headaches in the day because darkness just had her think of that cave.

In other words- she was not alright.

"I'm doing better," her voice answered.

"Good," he grunted. One of his fingers was rubbing over the dirt on his pede habitually. "I didn't really know you when she got you, but..."

At this point, the dirt was just smearing.

"You know, the humans, M.E.C.H.? They blindsided me one time. I woke up in one of their labs."

She did know that. The story had come up a few times among the autobots before the two defectors came.

"I ended up convinced I was gonna die down there," Breakdown continued. "Then Bulk showed up and Starscream came not long after and I made my way back to the warship. Found out from Starscream that he technically wasn't allowed to come get me. None of the cons were. They were supposed to leave me there and I'd have to find my own way out."

There was a tie between that and Airachnid. She wasn't sure what, but there had to be.

"When you were a hostage, the bots didn't immediately rush off to go look for you. There wasn't some big rescue party right then and there."

_Ah._

* * *

Knock Out had been having a rather wonderful time.

_Had been_ being a past tense phrase.

Before, he'd been going from one activity to the next. The kids (sans Raf because that was the _responsible_ one) had dragged him into a race with Bumblebee. Miko had 'called dibs' on him, which apparently meant she wanted her nasty fleshiness to sit in his alt-mode. Having already done that when he'd picked her up from her school that one time, Knock Out grudgingly accepted it. Jack had wheedled Bumblebee into letting him ride.

There was an amusing deja vu to the fact that Knock Out was once again racing against Bumblebee and Jack Darby. This time, without any interruptions or doors being torn off, he made sure to win.

Miko may have been spreading organic who-knew-what all over his upholstery, but the teen got so wild when he drove faster than was safe. It served to egg him on remarkably well.

They'd all done a few circuits of that (he'd only lost one of them, and he told his stinging pride that it had been on purpose) and then Raf had come over, trying to spend time with Bumblebee, and everything was interrupted.

So that little event was over and Knock Out went back indoors.

Back inside, he'd learned even more details on why they were leaving. Fowler had come by and was still talking with Magnus by the time the medic was in there. Ratchet had joined them. Like any good, self-respecting autobot, Knock Out had put himself into the conversation and listened dutifully.

Ratchet had been in contact with Optimus. _Apparently_, the autobots _had been_ hiding out under the Tagan Heights before Predaking had found them. _Apparently_, Optimus had decided to wait for the predacon to join them below before bringing the roof down on him. _Apparently_, the whole group had relocated to another, deeper barracks about a cycle's distance from Tagan Heights.

Now, if he remembered anything from his previous timeline, going further and deeper down wasn't gonna stop Predaking from digging them up.

But he didn't exactly have a better plan to offer so he kept quiet.

It sounded like the autobots could use reinforcements. Magnus was itchy to go help the Prime. Personally, Knock Out prefered the laid-back, less critically dangerous side missions on Earth. But autobots were always stupidly brave and so he was too now.

Of course, Optimus being Optimus, he hadn't wanted those reinforcements until the insecticons weren't going to be a threat for humans.

They'd come down to defining what exactly that threat meant.

Had they blown all the insecticons up?

No.

Did they know where all the insecticons were?

No.

But there hadn't been another attack on a human city since the hive had been chased away from their old caves. Fowler said something about how his superior felt the tech they had managed to scrape up from the M.E.C.H. base in Arizona (which wasn't much, since Fowler had told them to scrub the area best they could and they had) was going to be good enough against the vermin when their new caves got dug up.

Magnus had decided that was good enough. _The natives have a handle on it, we're good to go._ Something like that.

All of this just confirmed what he'd already known: they'd be heading back tonight.

So Knock Out had pranced away from that meeting and went looking for his partner. His voice came from deeper into the base. The medic went for the training room and was rewarded by how Breakdown's voice got louder and clearer.

"-even Ratchet went and got rid of the bargaining tool for getting you back safely."

"I told you," that was one of the human's voices. "-he made the right call. I'm not unhappy with him for it."

There was a frustrated, garbed growl from Breakdown.

"Yeah, believe me I can imagine what she'd do with Tox-En, but. But they should've tried harder to rescue one of their own. The guys here, they're not cons; the cons were good with leaving me to M.E.C.H., but the bots are supposed to be different."

Knock Out peeked into the room in time to see Jack's mom reaching up to set a hand on what part of a seated Breakdown she could reach.

"I really do appreciate the concern," she said. "And believe me, I wanted away from her sooner. But no one knew where I was. It wasn't like M.E.C.H."

Well, well, this was curious. Were they talking about that incident in Russia? It certainly seemed they were.

"...I thought I deserved the failure then. Why else would Megatron ban a rescue operation? But having to cover it all up- who rescued me, how they did, what I was going through- it was upsetting."

That fleshy hand patted on blue plating softly again.

"Didn't you get to talk about it?" June asked.

Of course he had. Knock Out had heard all about that horrid little misadventure. He made sure to remember it when he had good old C.Y.L.A.S. in his grasp.

"I didn't really get the chance," Breakdown answered despite all of that.

Knock Out narrowed his optics and prepared to slip in and demand a reason for this exaggeration.

"When I got back, Knock Out helped me get repaired and cleaned and ready to rest, but I didn't get to talk about Silas or the drills or anything."

Exc-...wait.

"I figured that meant I shouldn't bring it up again. Just like I figured I wasn't supposed to drag Airachnid up again, except it seems like dragging things up is what everyone around here does." Breakdown sighed. "What you and Bumblebee said the other day- I didn't want to hear it. But I did want to talk about M.E.C.H.; I didn't get to and figured it was supposed to be like that. Except I started thinking about it again after what you guys said."

It was hard to believe anything had been said. Why have apparently important conversations without him around? It was practically unthinkable.

"I started thinking about a lot of things I never got the chance to say," the blue mech growled. "About how much gets chosen or spoken for me. And I never wanted to believe it, but I think I've been resenting for a while. Just not ever letting myself address that frustration."

The two in the room were quiet. Knock Out was too.

He was busy thinking.

Thinking about what had happened after Breakdown had come back from M.E.C.H.

Thinking about what he'd discovered with the autobots after the war.

Thinking about why he'd come back here in the first place.

He tried to dig up all the memories of recent interactions and look at them more closely. A lack of smile here, a clenched fist there.

Frag, he'd been missing things. He'd been so thrilled to get focused on after that fight in the woods with Soundwave that he'd stopped all his extra, unnatural work on trying to actually listen to others.

"Have you spoken with him about this?" the human asked.

There was a telling shuffle on Breakdown's part. "No. I don't wanna upset him. Most of this isn't his fault-"

Better not be.

Both because it would offend him to hear that and because of how depressing that would be.

He was already giving it his best here. If that wasn't enough, could he really try any harder?

"-and all the things lately, that's on me. I wanted to go back to what we were before and he listened to that. It was me that hadn't realized maybe...maybe we really had needed to change."

The eavesdropper latched onto that justification and nodded.

Yes, that was it. Clearly. It was just a misunderstanding, but primarily he was still doing a spectacular job at this.

"You can't just blame yourself for everything," June said. "The more perfect you make him out to be in your mind, the more I'm betting this resentment festers. Neither of you deserve that."

The two in there quieted down. Knock Out watched his partner slowly set a servo around the human like some sort of misplaced hug or something.

"We're not good people," the mech said, looking down at the nurse. "Do you understand that?"

June glared up at him with what Knock Out had come to learn was the _no-nonsense mom_ stare.

"I think you're both more normal than you're giving yourself credit for."

That both sounded true enough to erase most of his excuses and false enough that it couldn't provide enough hope for fixing this mess.

Breakdown moved his head to look at the far wall. "Yeah. But if we weren't, I could just deny relating to any of the advice people give out."

The other's response was quick. "And if you weren't, you wouldn't have connected the way your old team left you to M.E.C.H. and the way mine didn't immediately find a way to rescue me."

* * *

"Your eye looks really good."

That was a weird comment. Knock Out was sitting against the wall by the training room doorway, as he had been for a while now, but at that his head jerked up and almost hit against the wall loud enough to bring attention.

Breakdown's engine sputtered. "Oh. Not really. It's the wrong shade. Knock Out is gonna have an aneurysm when he sees it."

That was even weirder. He'd seen the blue mech's optic enough.

"He doesn't know it's there?" June sounded surprised.

The mech gave another odd choking sound, though this one sounded more like nervous laughter.

"Not yet. I tried to bring it up. Normally, I would've waited to get a response, but...there wasn't going to be a second chance in a while."

That short bit of the conversation remained with Knock Out most. Once the call for all autobots to reunite in the main room came, he spent an uncomfortable amount of time staring silently at the second optic on his partner's face.

It didn't match. That was what Breakdown got for going to a different medic, he supposed. Not everyone appreciated cosmetic balance.

There was a fair amount of offense at play there. There was a larger amount of confusion because he didn't remember this subject ever coming up to prepare him for this.

And there was that small voice going over the one issue:

It didn't match.

That was going to drive him crazy, he could already tell.

* * *

The space bridge transported them right to the barracks of what was apparently being called Autobot Outpost 3.

Knock Out decided autobots really needed to work on their name game.

The humans had all waved goodbye loudly from the catwalk. Ratchet had given them all a nod, servo on the lever.

The warmth of the Earth base faded into the cool still of Cybertron.

Knock Out couldn't really appreciate either. His head was busy thinking.

Upon arriving, the autobots on Cybertron had all started making noise at once. Arcee came over to give him a quick smirk before going into soldierly attention upon noticing Magnus.

In fact, everyone went pretty quiet at Magnus's arrival.

Somewhere in the back of the group, Wheeljack growled. The wrecker disappeared down one of the adjutant halls immediately after.

Optimus had greeted Magnus as warmly as the Prime tended to get. The commander had exchanged official, professional greetings and then commented on their leader's leg.

Which looked like scrap. Knock Out wondered why Ratchet hadn't told them all Optimus was injured. He wondered if Ratchet even knew.

Well, that would need to be addressed. He'd wrangle Breakdown over and they'd start repairs as soon as possible. Hopefully without being interrupted by a certain Predaking who was probably sniffing them all out. Magnus and Optimus disappeared down another hall to no doubt catch up and make plans in more peace and quiet. Knock Out would give them a respectable amount of time for that, and then he'd be grabbing Breakdown and ordering the Prime to sit still while they fixed him.

Speaking of his nurse-

He caught sight of the blue mech turning towards Bulkhead, who was approaching him. Breakdown was frowning. Most likely because he'd just gotten back and didn't want to be harassed so soon. Knock Out walked over to them both with a frown of his own. He stepped in front of his partner protectively.

"Bulkhead," he crossed his arms. "Are you here to try to drag up the past some more?"

The green wrecker blinked.

"Uh. What?"

Knock Out ignored the awkward laugh.

"You've been doing it lately, haven't you? I don't appreciate you harassing my-"

A different voice cut him off. It lacked its usual bluster at first, although its volume increased.

"He's not."

The medic looked behind himself at where Breakdown was standing. He was staring at Knock Out's shoulder rather than his face.

"He's not bothering me," he repeated. "We like to talk."

The glare on his pointed shoulder plates dropped along with those very plates; Knock Out drooped in a way that likely looked rather unattractive.

He looked again at their positioning: Breakdown behind, Knock Out in front. Protectively, he'd thought at first. Possessively.

"Oh," he squeaked. There was an otherwise total lack of words for this- this- disappointment.

Breakdown finally stared into his face, mouth parting, expression slackening into, what? an apology? Those mismatched optics met his.

"I'll just-" Knock Out made himself grin too wide. "Be going."

The medic slipped away despite how his partner had tried to call him back.

This? And what uncomfortable comments he'd heard earlier? Seemed to be proof of something.

He'd been messing up. He'd been messing up his entire goal here somewhere along the line and never noticed when, never noticed where, never realized how, because this was all alien territory. It was all him trying hard to feel what normal, healthy mech's did: the whole listening business, and reading people, and accepting they lived lives that didn't rely on him-

Knock Out scraped his claws down the wall of the hallway he'd dipped into. Metal sheared away in strips. It whined horridly.

If only this was natural for him.

If only he could truly know what another mech was thinking and wanting.

He could've caught this before it stretched on into whatever it had.

He'd thought they were doing so well.

He'd really thought that he'd learned who his partner was.

Someone had come near him where he was making a wreck of the wall. It was Arcee. She leaned against the wall with folded arms and looked at him. Knock Out paused mid movement.

"What's upsetting you?" she asked.

Because of course she didn't need to ask are you upset or anything else as dumb. He obviously wasn't alright. And even if he wasn't obvious, Arcee was still better at this whole thing than him; she'd be able to catch on where he would just see whatever oblivious life he'd predetermined to see.

"I-"

What? Needed to go back in time again and try again without having to feel responsible for the previous timelines mistakes? That wasn't going to happen.

So he needed to figure out how to swallow the devastating pain of having made a mistake and get advice on how to manage it.

Knock Out always did get devastated at a failure or defeat, after all. The difference was that, as an autobot, he didn't stew in that- he talked about it and then tried, as hard as it was, to listen to the advice others gave.

"I think I need to talk to Optimus," he decided.

Arcee pushed off the wall so that she was standing right next to him.

"I'll take you to his current office."

They were quiet the entire short walk to that closed door. Before it opened, Arcee looked at him. "Do you want some support in there?"

An audience?

Maybe. No. Yes. He did and didn't and didn't know. So he just nodded instead. She gave him a little smile before opening the door.

Magnus was currently speaking to the Prime, who was sitting on relatively undamaged rubble stacked into a seat. The commander looked at the two intruders in irritation. Optimus accepted the interruption easily.

"I think we have set up a good response plan," he said to the other officer.

The dismissal wasn't offensive. Even if Magnus looked unhappy to go on such short notice, he didn't look angry with the Prime. His frowning was directed on to the two newcomers as he walked past them and shut the door behind him.

Knock Out wished he could do something like that; could dismiss things without sounding or meaning insult. Optimus really was the best role model someone could get.

It made him intimidating to approach.

It made him the option Knock Out had spent too long ignoring.

"Optimus?"

The Prime looked at him patiently.

Always so patient and gentle and somehow rather terrifying despite it all.

_If you ever need to speak about any problem-_

"I think I've messed up."


	66. Coming To Terms

_AN- Mentioned sexual content, same warning for chapter 60 applies here. First scene is a flashback._

* * *

The museums really didn't have that much. Knock Out was pretty sure he'd learned more just from the people he'd talked to after the war. They would've had great information for these museums; but apparently they hadn't been reached out to by those trying to fill in placards and such.

Knock Out still visited them. Sure, they didn't really have a lot of answers or stories for him, but they still were something. They had a statue over by the NW Bridge. He visited it every once in a while. Sometimes there were others around looking up in awe. Sometimes there were younglings who had no idea who's statue they were loitering on.

He was pretty sure he knew more than those no-goods did. He'd spent the long war knowing about the Prime he was fighting. On Earth, he'd gotten to actually fight that Prime up close. Interact a few times, drop a few quips, run away when the battle got too sketchy- the works and all.

After the war ended, he'd gotten to talk with him. Well, briefly. And he'd gotten a compliment, along with the rest of them, and watched the Prime dive into the Well.

Before, he'd always thought the Prime was a bit of a blowhard. Someone so moral it was embarrassing to watch, who could probably end the war but was always so concerned with being the ultimate nice guy that he never had. A real looker, but an embarrassing idiot.

Most of the decepticons thought the same. Or he thought they did. He couldn't really say for sure; he'd always really figured everyone on the _Nemesis_ lived in his story, which left them all thinking about what he did in his memories. But whatever they really thought, it was negative. If Optimus went up to, say, _Starscream_, and told him that he'd acted like a Prime, the seeker would probably be insulted.

Knock Out hadn't been insulted.

But the lack of offense meant that he'd gotten himself thinking that a Prime was someone who it was a compliment to be compared to. And being compared to an embarrassingly moral blowhard was not a compliment.

So that wasn't Optimus. Optimus was something else.

He was someone inspiring, sensational- a perfect role model.

Who was he? Knock Out had to know. If he was going to be trying to model after him, he had to know who he was.

The museums were little help. They didn't offer advice to him on what to do right now; whether to leave the planet or stay, whether to fight for the career being taken from him or be passive-

The bots who'd known Optimus personally were able to talk about him with so much more detail.

But they weren't around to be talked to anymore.

He was left to wonder if that's what they figured Optimus would want from them-

and wondered if that's what he too should do.

* * *

The dent on his jaw was hardly noticeable. It was a minor marring to his golden faceplates, but he was not vain enough to mind.

But it was _how_ he had received it that made the dent sting.

It was not personal. He'd been in the way. It was not punishment. He was not being made into an example.

Millennia had been served in this manner. Both he and his twin had been sworn to their one true master before the war had even officially broken out. They had stood as his side whenever they could and carried out his tasks at a distance otherwise. They had watched how the new army grew and changed and strengthened.

It twisted mechs but never them. They were unchanging.

And then the ultimate change had torn their spark apart.

Megatron had asked him if he was too squeamish when Dreadwing was silent at the grave.

He'd answered honestly enough. It did not matter to him for the sake of what Prime lay here. Skyquake likely would find such a task dishonorable; Skyquake always had been the more honorable of the two. And Skyquake was gone. Dead, somewhere on Earth. Soundwave had not given him the coordinates to where his brother had fallen despite how he had asked for them. He assumed it was because of what the truth would be: his brother, strewn in pieces, burnt, desecration, dishonored- a sight that would make his half of their spark pulse in agony.

Soon, he would demand to know the location of his brother's death and go.

Currently, he was not strong enough.

Just breaking into a grave was enough to weaken him because of how his every thought circled back to Skyquake. Skyquake. His thoughts repeated the name even after they had cut the arm off of the fallen Prime. Skyquake.

It repeated even as he carried the prize back to the _Nemesis_ and held it while his lord spoke with the other officers. Skyq-

It stopped circulating around when he had felt the blow.

The strike hadn't been personal. He'd merely been shoved aside while he stood too uselessly slow to move out of the way, busy thinking his twin's designation stupidly.

It hadn't been nearly as dangerous as some impersonal strikes Megatron engaged in were. His spark hadn't been bared like XL-3T09's had so recently. It was withheld, proving his great value and use to his lord.

A part of Dreadwing wondered why he was bothering with excuses.

The dent was hardly noticeable, but it stung. Not, as he would expect, his pride- it stung his loyalty.

After Megatron had come to relieve his position on the bridge, Dreadwing had departed for the medbay.

He would not allow this mark to be a signal to others; he did not feel he deserved such a scar.

It was easy enough to repair. The medic hadn't really spoken much when he'd entered. The seeker hadn't either. He had pointed out the minor injury to say he wanted it fixed. Not much else was said. Neither were very talkative.

"There." XL-2M99 stepped back when the short appointment was finished. He took the tools with him and had already turned to put them away by the time Dreadwing stood.

The seeker paused in the doorway. The medic noticed and turned around to face him.

"Thank you," Dreadwing said.

The vehicon offered a hesitant wave.

He felt content on his walk back to the bridge up until the point that another mech ran into him. Whoever it was dropped down to the floor with a thump. A second thump sounded at the same moment.

Dreadwing stumbled forward briefly, before quickly straightening and turning to see what poor drone had gotten tripped.

It wasn't a vehicon. The mech shoving up from the ground, hitting his offered servo aside, was Starscream.

The seeker hissed at his offered help. Unwilling to have those talons cut his servo again, Dreadwing pulled it away.

"Stupid, clumsy-" Starscream muttered, reaching down to pull something else up from the ground. It was clunky silver surrounding blue: the Apex Armor? It seemed to be so. "You are as graceless as your brother was-"

Only the surprise of it kept Dreadwing back from slamming the other seeker against the wall.

"What?" he growled, optics wide from the unexpected remark.

Starscream's prideful attitude morphed into something very careful.

"Erm. Surely you recognize that's just a necessary side effect to ones as strong and powerful as you both?"

It was far from appeasing.

But he reigned his insulted anger in.

"Where are you going?" Dreadwing asked lowly; the growl was still so evident in his voice.

The smaller seeker sneered. "To join that infernal beast of Shockwave's while it scouts for autobots or bones. Whichever it's been told to look for now. Now get out of my way, Dreadwing."

He did not.

"_Commander_." He was not sure why he said it. Not long before, he'd been certain he would lose the title to this very mech. Surely it did not matter to him.

Starscream began to smile. His optics traced down to the golden jaw, looking for the mark that had been removed, before meeting Dreadwing's again. Those dents on the other's shoulders from where he'd been grabbed and thrown aside were also repaired already.

"Oh," the smaller seeker drawled. "Commander Dreadwing. I see. And here I thought you claimed you were above such things. Oh, 'I serve my_ one true master',_ I'm a mindless drone not a member of an _army_ with professional _rankings_."

The anger that had flared at Skyquake's insult returned in a more subdued form.

"You always were like that, weren't you?" Starscream mocked. "From the start, you were so proud of your warrior status, never noticing that a war was going on, never recognizing any of the officers above you unless they were named Megatron."

Dreadwing growled.

"And you were a fool at the start, bragging about how lord Megatron would never hurt you," he said in return.

Arguing, throwing insults- this was petty and beneath him. Skyquake would be disappointed. Of course, Skyquake preferred to think with his fists. He would've merely hit Starscream at the first insult. Dreadwing's half of the spark was more constrained.

The smaller seeker's optics had gone comically wide. And then he'd sliced across the larger flyer's chest. Blue paint scraped off. The result stung.

_"I was never a fool-"_ Starscream hissed and then shoved past him.

Dreadwing watched him disappear down the hall, his relic under a shivering arm.

If that was the last he had to see of him, he would not be disappointed.

Or so Dreadwing thought.

But later that cycle, the former air commander had not returned. Dreadwing waited on the Nemesis.

When the predacon arrived, the seeker was not with him.

By the start of the next cycle, Dreadwing found Soundwave to report on the extended absence.

Either Starscream had determined to go rogue again or he had been detained or killed by the enemy.

Despite the personal anger held over from their fight, Dreadwing had no desire to see either be true. Megatron would be furious. And the drone army did not deserve to pay for their master's fury.

* * *

There wasn't really a seat for him to take.

Optimus had made to offer one before realizing that the only one they'd put in this room was his. He would stand and offer it, but his injury made such an action more difficult.

So Knock Out was left fidgeting in front of the makeshift desk while Arcee stood against the wall behind him.

"I am unclear with what you mean," Optimus replied to the medic's unexpected statement.

The red mech fidgeted again.

"Ah," he started. "Right, of course. I need advice. I need help with what I'm doing. Er, that is, what I'm doing here. The reason I'm here; I've messed it up."

The Prime leaned forward slightly; his face remained impassive.

"I am not following," he said. "Are you speaking of your decision to become an autobot?"

It had been rushed. Optimus had worried that such speed would lead to a moment much like this; perhaps even another defection to neutrality. He hoped it would not be so.

"Yes but no," Knock Out answered elusively. "More of _why_ I came here to join you. If I just wanted to be an autobot, I would've stayed."

With the decepticons?

This was not making sense.

"But I wanted to give Breakdown a chance. I wanted to get to know him this time around because I felt so bad about never finding it out."

This was making even less sense. Optimus found his brows had narrowed together with a frown.

"I don't believe I am following," he repeated his earlier confusion.

That seemed to shake Knock Out. The red mech went blank, gave a panicked laugh, and then moved to amused resignation. The wild shift in expressions was disconcerting.

"I shouldn't have figured I could explain without _explaining_. So, I guess-" Knock Out bit at his lip a moment as though nervous. "-I guess I've got to start at the beginning."

Optimus leaned forward more and gave him a nod to continue.

* * *

Bulkhead spent an awkward length of time looking at Breakdown's devastated expression. The neutral had a servo held out like he was silently pleading for his partner to come back from where he'd ran.

_A very. awkward. length._

"So. Um. You like talking to me?"

The other mech clenched his servo and let it fall.

"I've got to go after him. I have to make sure he's okay-I've got to-"

The commotion had drawn most of the attention in the room. Arcee walked to the hall that Knock Out had disappeared into. Bumblebee came over to him instead. Smokescreen just looked confused.

_"He's just clearing his head,"_ the scout tried to suggest. Breakdown shook his head.

"No, he never needs to do that. I've done this to him, I've-"

A silent conversation flickered from Bumblebee to the neutral. For all Bulkhead knew, maybe they really were going back and forth on a comm. Smokescreen had danced over and was looking between the three like he was trying to figure out what or how to interject.

"Naw," the rookie tried. "He wasn't upset at you; seemed more embarrassed at reading the room wrong, that's all."

...huh.

The kid wasn't as dumb as he acted sometimes. That seemed pretty on point.

Breakdown still looked too upset to believe him.

"I still- I need to check-"

Despite how it still sent old warning bells through his head, Bulkhead didn't jump forward when Smokescreen set a servo on the other blue mech's shoulder and patted it.

"Arcee's got it," the kid grinned. "She's good, believe me."

And he had been stuck talking with her a few times already, so the wrecker believed it; it did seem like Arcee had been whipping Smokescreen into shape lately.

The sound of a door opening and closing drew the rest of their attention to the hallway. It wasn't the medic and two-wheeler that came out of the hallway though. It was Ultra Magnus.

If he hadn't been immersed in whatever drama this was, Bulkhead would probably have started up outloud about how excited he was to work under Ultra Magnus. And he was! Even if he knew Wheeljack (who, in contrast to himself, _had_ worked under the commander before) was really unhappy about the guy being back.

Ultra Magnus looked over them all: Bulkhead and Smokescreen standing near Breakdown, Breakdown looking with confliction down the hallway, Bumblebee standing close to them all but having turned to salute at the commander's entrance.

"Optimus informed me that you already are on duty at your stations. Return to them."

Piece said, the big mech moved on to begin speaking with Ratchet over how they could bring the_ Iron Will_ here.

The rest of the mechs drifted back to their stations while this conversation happened.

Thinking that Ultra Magnus may get frustrated if talking continued during his call, Bulkhead directly commed Breakdown instead.

_«Since you weren't here when the five of us were keeping track of this place, you don't have a specific station to get to. Want to come work with me awhile?»_

Breakdown's fists twitched at his side before they relaxed.

_«Sure»_ came the simple answer.

Not expecting much more elaboration, the wrecker just led the way over to where he'd been trying to monitor energy signals.

"We're just trying to keep an optic on that predacon," Bulkhead explained. "Both because we need to find a new place if it finds this one, and because we're trying to figure out what it's been doing recently."

Breakdown sat down on the adjutant seat to the makeshift station. "What do you mean?"

Right. They'd all been on Earth a while.

"It's been doing weird flyovers to locations pretty far from here. We want to figure out why."

The other grunted.

"Okay."

They went quiet again. Bulkhead poked at the monitor controls without reason.

"Nice optic," he tried to reignite conversation again. "Looks like we both have perfect vision on our own now."

It made Breakdown grunt again, but this time there was a smirk with it.

"You only just now noticing?" he teased.

That conversation didn't last long either. The wrecker went back to poking things. Breakdown went back to staring out in the direction of the main room.

"You really think he's alright?"

It was funny. In all the time he'd been up against that duo, he'd never really noticed them legitimately caring about each other.

"Like Smokey said," Bulkhead tried, "Arcee's got him."

Breakdown pulled his head forward and frowned.

But he didn't keep glancing back either.

"I didn't want to upset him," he said.

It was the theme of what he'd been saying for the last few minutes. A guilty mantra repeated again.

"I just felt like I gotta work some things out on my own, not have them worked out for me."

Bulkhead poked at more controls; he was feeling a bit awkward being involved in some sort of power tug-of-war or lover's spat or whatever this was.

"That's good," the wrecker said simply.

"Not if it hurts him," Breakdown denied sharply, before going back to just frowning. "But some things really don't involve him. I don't know."

He let his head fall sideways to stare at Bulkhead.

"I got to do some thinking. 'bought what you've brought up a few times. I can't say I feel like talking about it right now-"

The way his attention kept flickering to the main room perfectly enunciated why.

"-but I might as well try. Who knows when the robo-dragon is gonna interrupt us anyway."

Knowing how the autobot luck always went, Bulkhead had to silently laugh. Breakdown had no idea how true that statement was: something _always_ interrupted important talks.

"I wasn't going to start something, you know," Bulkhead said. "I want to finish that conversation, but you just got back. I was just gonna come catch up with everyone."

"But we have time now," Breakdown interrupted. "And I want to get it over and done with."

Bulkhead went quiet and gave him a shrug to go for it then. The blue mech met it with a nod. "Back when I was in the Stunticons, I found out that Motormaster was making Dead End frag him. I didn't really understand what it meant at the time, but I knew it was off. So I went and tried to talk with Dead End about it. He stabbed me for my effort."

Damned Stunticons. They were such a twisted mess.

"After that, I just had to watch; watch all the times he'd slip out of Motormaster's quarters, watch how it ate him alive til there was nothing left- I watched and watched until I didn't feel it bother me anymore.

As it always did, hearing about the Stunticons unsettled Bulkhead.

Hearing this sort of side to them was even more unsettling.

Bulkhead preferred black and white. If he hated a group, he hated them. Why waste time trying to think of 'their side of the story' or any of that scrap? Sometimes that got blurred a bit. Rescuing Breakdown in Russia, working with that one vehicon to get away from M.E.C.H., stuff like that. But with mechs long dead, there was no point blurring things.

"I got to thinking about this, cause I've been trying to dig for things that aren't gonna be there. I've _watched_ too much for it to be there. So what we- what I was doing in our rivalry?"

They kept their focus on each other until it was painful.

"I don't think I regret killing all of them for their sakes," Breakdown said. "I don't know if I ever could've but after all I've seen, it's just not gonna come...But I feel uncomfortable with all this because I know I _should_ feel wrong. You and everyone here say it should feel wrong and you guys have a better grasp on this than the cons ever did. I _know_ I should and _that's_ how I feel it."

It didn't make sense but it did. It wasn't real, but it knew it should be and that made it as real as it was gonna get.

Like he'd thought: it didn't make sense. It was real headache making.

The blue mech moved his head forward to stare at the monitor.

"But I have figured this much out. I didn't know any of them, so I can't really feel regret about killing them. I do know y-I r-what I regret is what it did to you."

And for now- possibly for longer- that was enough.

* * *

Knock Out paced before beginning. He'd forgotten Arcee was behind him. He'd forgotten most of what was happening in the room.

He was rather busy trying to think of how to address this.

If Brainstorm was here, the seeker would probably have two differing opinions. One: don't talk. Who knew what horrible science-y things would happen by admitting to the existence of time travel. Two: frag yes, talk. If it never got explained, no one could find out what awesome thing he'd done with this machine.

Somehow, Knock Out found himself rather relating to both of those. Secrets weren't fun at all when people couldn't actually know and be impressed by them.

But Optimus was waiting patiently. Out of everyone, he'd probably accept this as true rather than just locking Knock Out up for going mad. He was the one with a mystical device in his chest who had already fought off a literal god once before in this timeline. Surely a little dimension hopping wasn't going to be too much to handle.

He had to explain this though. He had to. He had to talk about everything that had happened and find out where along the line he had slipped up. What he could do to fix everything. How to swallow back the terrifying, obsessive disappointment of failing.

"Alright," he started. "Alright. From the top, then."

In contrast to his words, he went right back to pacing silently.

Abruptly, he cut the movement off and looked straight at the mech behind the desk.

"I'm not supposed to be here," Knock Out admitted. "I came here from another dimension."

Optimus's optics went wide with withheld surprise.


	67. In Which Much Talking Is Done

It was the quiet that got to her.

Tailgate had liked the quiet. Not at first, but after the war had started they'd both gotten that way.

Before the war, he'd been quite the chatterbox.

But he was nothing compared to Cliff.

Cliff _just loved_ the sound of his own voice.

Now that it was gone, Arcee realized she loved it too.

Sometimes she could hear it again during a vivid flux. She knew she shouldn't let herself have those. They were part of her problem with Airachnid; fluxes so real, so uncontrollable, they stole her senses away from reality whether she was in recharge or not.

So she knew she should report any one of them to Ratchet and work on keeping her cortex wired for reality with him-

but when they let her hear Cliff chatting away- cracking some sad joke- bragging about something or other- talking about all his plans for after the war-

How could she stop those? They were her only way to hear his voice again. To actually receive the sensory input telling her (however falsely) that Cliff was talking to her right then.

How could she be expected to report those?

They were a slight relief, a minor medication.

She would give anything to spend more time with him. To spend more time with Tailgate too, but his death was less traumatically recent.

Despite knowing from prior experience that thinking that way didn't help, Arcee still found herself going over how much she'd give up to get her partner back.

Reality paid those pleas and bargains no heed.

* * *

"I think it'd be called another dimension, at least." Knock Out grew thoughtful. "Another timeline, to be sure. I guess it doesn't really matter. Point is, I shouldn't be here. Knock Out should, but not my version of him."

Arcee was looking at him in great concern. Optimus merely drew his lips into a thin line.

"I see," he said.

The medic beamed. "Really? I was worried it'd be hard to convince anyone."

There was no reaction to that.

"You have been rather..._strange_...since your first day among us. Sometimes, your words or actions, such as the retrieval of the omega key from Smokescreen, implied you held knowledge we were not privy to."

He screwed his face up.

"Yes, well, I rather enjoyed looking like a genius of the psychic kind. But it's true; I transferred my consciousness to my body here from my original dimension."

After an uncomfortable silence, Optimus gestured for him to continue.

"I came here when I was already an autobot; I switched after you died-"

Both of the other autobots started up.

"Twice," Knock Out tagged on. "The first time didn't really stick. Anyway, in my home dimension, I remained a decepticon up until the very end of the war. It played out with some differences there though. Breakdown was killed by Airachnid in that forest. Starscream stole all four omega keys and used them to barter his way back to the cons. Dreadwing got himself killed before anyone came back to Cybertron. Megatron got killed later and the war came to a close. That's when I first tried to defect."

Optimus folded his servos on the desk.

"I believe I see where this is going. You said Breakdown was killed?"

That really was the turning point; the precipice; the apex for everything that fell apart after.

"Yeah," Knock Out answered. "January 31st. The day I called you."

The Prime was still frowning. "And in this...timeline...you hail from, what proceeded that day?"

Well, since he asked...

"Well, M.E.C.H. did their little decoy Prime thing; Silas-"

He couldn't stop the growl there, but tried to cover it with joviality.

"-survived though. M.E.C.H. picked up all of Breakdown's remains. They stuck good old Silas inside him and made some walking abomination that paraded around in Breakdown's body."

Arcee let out a low hiss. Optimus himself narrowed his optics, although his reaction was more reserved than the two-wheeler's.

Personally, he couldn't blame her. Nothing Shockwave ever thought up would be as revolting as what that fleshy did to his partner's corpse.

Of course, he had gotten the revenge Breakdown would have wanted on him...or at least, Knock Out at that time was certain his assistant would have wanted.

"Then the incidents with the Iacon relic hunt happened; Smokescreen showed up and Soundwave caught him so that we could extract the omega key."

Though he didn't laugh or anything like that, Optimus did seem to look satisfied at that news.

"It did seem peculiar that you were able to use such quick thinking in extracting the key recently."

Really, that alone made Knock Out feel confident that his story was being believed.

"I had already done it once before; you are correct. But at that time, it hardly mattered. Smokescreen got the key back and snagged two others on his way out of the ship. And then Starscream stole all four and brought them over to the cons so..." he shrugged. "It just went back and forth a lot. Megatron decided that he didn't like you having the star saber, so he cut some arm off a Prime-"

"He did what?" Arcee interrupted. She sounded more surprised than disturbed.

"Cut off a servo so that he could get it attached to himself and use the forge. Which he did. To make something called-"

The snicker came without permission. He was trying to be serious here- trying to get to the important part where he discussed what he'd come back to do and somehow failed at doing-

But that name? How was he supposed to say it without laughing?

"-he called the..._dark star saber._"

Choking back the rest of the hilarity, Knock Out tried to return to sobriety.

"He never got it here, so we've still got the advantage of the star saber on our side. Oh, and that human? He came prancing around calling himself C.Y.L.A.S. and tried to join the decepticons. He was, erm, unfortunately disposed of."

Moving on.

"I put Megatron and Starscream through the cortical psychic patch to 'test loyalty' or whatever. That's how Dreadwing found out about the whole 'raising Skyquake from the dead' thing and tried to kill Starscream, but got himself killed by Megatron instead. He gave you the forge first and that's what helped everyone get over to Cybertron. But the decepticons had figured out that the humans lived in Jasper and took them hostage to get control of the omega lock. You broke it when they started cyberforming Earth, they blew your base up, and all you autobots scattered. Shockwave showed up with Predaking-"

Oh, right. Since he was bothering with exposition anyway, he might as well elaborate on that.

"That's the predacon," Knock Out said despite being pretty sure Optimus had figured that out. "It's a rather egotistical name, but he picked it out himself."

Optimus's optics had gone from narrowed to wide again.

"Do you mean..."

"He's sentient?" the time-traveler smirked. "Yeah. He has a bot alt-mode he should be figuring out how to use sometime or other. And he likes to hold a grudge: where I came from, both armies played a role in destroying the lab growing more of his kind and he just went all crazy for revenge after that."

Until he'd run off, that is.

But only Bumblebee had really felt bad about that. The rest just found _his highness'_s departure relieving.

Optimus seemed to take that in before shaking his head.

"This wasn't what I meant when I asked what proceeded the 31st of January," the Prime said. "I merely referred to what proceeded for yourself. Were you grieving from your partner's death?"

That was the type of question that'd make him panic back then.

He remembered his Arcee talking about how different bots grieved different ways.

Sometimes, they didn't realize that's what they were doing.

Sometimes, they didn't think they were doing it at all.

Knock Out started fidgeting again. "Not like I was supposed to. It didn't really feel like it impacted me until-"

Until it had walked up and slapped him in the face with hope and then a very much wrong voice.

"-C.Y.L.A.S.. I missed him, but I didn't miss him because- because- I never _knew_ him. Only what he was to me. It was only after I first tried to save myself by defecting once Megatron got killed by-"

"Please," Optimus interrupted. "I do not wish to know how he was killed. I fear it may affect my ability to combat him."

Knock Out screwed his expression up.

"Fine. Not that he stayed dead for long anyway."

The Prime grew just as startled as he had been at learning of his own death (which was to say, not noticeably much).

"Unicron woke him up. That's how you died the second time. Unicron had all these predacon zombies everywhere, I finally managed to get out of the brig and into the relative safety of accepted defection, and then you won that second war for us all. You emptied the Allspark from its container into your spark so that Unicron would be trapped."

Optimus opened his mouth.

For a moment, no words came.

"Then..." he finally spoke. "I rejoined the Well with the Allspark?"

He had. And it had been at once the most life changing moments for Knock Out in a good way and also screwed the whole planet over later.

"You did," the medic agreed. "Megatron renounced the cause and ran off to who knew where. You jumped in the Well. The rest of us just tried to find our way along in factions with both their leaders gone."

And maybe that was where things went wrong.

Maybe the new government that had formed wouldn't have been able to if at least Optimus was around to tell them he was disappointed in their cruel stupidity.

"Can you do us all a favor?" Knock Out asked despite his better self telling him to shut up. "Can you try not to do that? It really messed everyone up. Ratchet, Magnus, all of us. Even me."

After the silence that followed that, he repeated softer: "Even me."

Optimus kept his own sympathetic gaze on the medic's face.

"I'm sorry. I cannot make that promise."

It wasn't a surprise. He'd known it.

"Yeah," Knock Out sighed. "Figured you couldn't. I just-...At the end there, you looked at all of us and said you were proud. You said we'd all acted like a Prime. If that could hit me as hard as it did, I can't help but feel like you could reach the others that came to Cybertron after."

Alot of them certainly thought that, for their own reasons. Knock Out just knew why he himself felt so convinced of it.

"There were enough scuffles at the start," he explained. "Enough cons that didn't believe Megatron actually said to stand down. Enough bots that didn't want to believe you'd told Ultra Magnus not to continue the war until every decepticon was incarcerated forever. But the neutrals ended up overpowering everyone. The whole planet got busy and repopulated and looked so nice. No cons on the street; they all got dumped on prison ships. No loyal followers of you either. And that's what I was," he added earnestly. "When the war first ended and I tried to defect, it was just me trying to live. When the whole Unicron thing happened and I got to really hear you in action...I meant everything I said when I came here. I want this brand."

The Prime's engine rumbled.

"I am pleased to hear it. I also meant what I said: I am glad you came to us. Whatever past you may have- both from this original dimension and from your history in the war- you are an exemplary autobot now."

The praise really was enough to just go up and out and carry him into the non-existent atmosphere of the planet.

But he had to stay grounded. This wasn't about getting filled up with praise and happiness, it was about getting advice on how to undo his mistake with Breakdown:

How he'd gone back to let the other be his own person and somewhere along the lines started rehashing their old dance and telling Breakdown what to be.

Once again, the failure made his spark feel like it was convulsing. No matter how distracting it was to reenact a clip show for the Prime, his purpose here still sat behind the fun distraction and waited to burst forth.

"I... on the outside. But Optimus-"

Claws fiddled far too close to his chest, to the brand and his spark beneath it, for comfort. He had no desire to scratch paint off.

"I never knew things were broken until after the war ended. I never knew I wasn't functioning _normally_ until after I joined you all."

Knock Out really felt like slumping down and sitting on the floor. Standing put too much attention on him. For once, he would rather not have any attention on him.

"After it ended, I just pretended to fit in with the rest of your team best I could. I got so used to blending in that I started noticing where my... _deficits_ were. When I got comfortable enough with the team, I started asking cautious questions. Arcee-"

The one behind him started, so he added: "-that Arcee, helped the most. She was the most like me in a lot of ways. Neither of us perfectly fit in as the most moral autobots."

Maybe saying that sort of thing about Arcee to her boss right in front of her wasn't the smartest idea.

Or just...the most tactful of an idea.

He only considered that when he had already said it. And it was too late at that point anyway.

"Magnus made me go through all the codes and laws, but it was her and Ratchet and Bumblebee that really made the code click. I started trying to be normal friends with them. I tried to remind myself that they lived lives that didn't revolve around me; tried to listen to them instead of just hearing what I wanted to hear; tried to choose to really know people like the autobots there just naturally could."

His engine rattled. Optimus just listened silently and it was both a relief to avoid interruption and only made this more tense.

"It doesn't come naturally." This was getting repetitive. He didn't know what else to do. "But I got to a point, before the new government wanted me locked up for a petty crime, that I really thought I was getting to know the people I considered friends. And it made me look back on all the other people I had considered friends before-"

Breakdown, primarily. But there'd been others. Starscream, for instance. Up until the mech pinned the terrorcon thing on him.

"I had no idea who they were. I knew what I made them out to be, but not who they actually were. Not what they thought, not what they wanted, hopes and dreams and all that. I spent millennia's being partners with Breakdown and I never found out who he was. Does that make sense?"

With the way he seemed to be looking out into the distance, it seemed like Optimus wasn't listening. But no- he was busy thinking, that was all. Both he and Megatron tended to do that by looking out over nothing.

Now the Prime looked up from that 'distance' to meet his optics.

They were such unblinking, unwavering optics; they were so paradoxically soft.

"You are not alone with what you are describing," Optimus reassured. "Is this why you came here?"

Knock Out tried to flash his winning smile and found he couldn't. The half-sparked smirk was aborted.

"Cybertron ran us all off the planet; they blacklisted everyone who was loyal to you. I was hiding at a safe place with an autobot scientist named Brainstorm. The isolation and overall lack of direction convinced me to try this. To give Breakdown another chance. To give myself a second chance; I would listen to him, discover who he was, try to heed what he wanted. I had all these grand plans for this and...and I fragged them up."

Now he did slump- not to the floor, but his upper body drooped forward while he stared at the ground.

"It was too easy to go back to routine. From the start, I couldn't do it. I called you to say we wanted to join you and he didn't want to defect at all. I never considered that. It never occurred to me. And I tried so hard to listen over the orns that it started wearing me down so much and then Breakdown offered to spend some time focused on me- we'd spent all that time just focused on him, him, him and never me, it felt like- and...it got out of control. But I never realized it had. I thought the give and take was satisfied; I'd let him pick everything for us for a while, now it was my turn. It was calculated and figured out and then I heard him talking to Jack's mom about things bothering him I had no idea he was going through. I tried to get Bulkhead to leave him alone and found out Breakdown likes talking with him. I haven't figured out what he wants at all; all I've done is kept him stuck with me-"

The engine rattled again. It made his voice rattle as well.

"I don't want to let him go. I don't want to loosen up. It's the same as it's always been. I thought I had it all figured out, but I haven't changed anything at all about myself."

The continuous spill of words would've kept going, but Optimus interrupted it with a silent shake of his head.

"No, Knock Out."

No?

No what?

Confused panic was stemmed off when the Prime continued.

"You have made the _choice_ to change. You have gone to lengths not many are able to in order to act on that change."

He stood from the desk to limp over.

"There is a difference between a choice and the follow through," Optimus said as he set a servo on the medic's wilted shoulder plates. "The initial choice requires learning of wrongdoing, determining the need for change- it is vital. It is the catalyst. It is what prevents many cybertronians from ever seeing their own flaws."

Many?

Optimus had dealt with others like him?

A part of him felt insulted at the idea he wasn't unique. He stomped that rising offense down.

"That choice is the necessary condition for change. One cannot begin to follow through in actions until they have made that discovery. Do not underestimate its importance."

The red mech took it all in. His mouth was wavering. "B-but-"

"After that," Optimus answered his unasked question. "-one must begin to act on their choice. This is continuous. It does not stop after one single action. Change requires constant effort, but falling back is natural. It is natural for all of us."

No way was it natural for the Prime.

"Not you," Knock Out protested.

Optimus gave him a smile. "I am just a mortal. I have recently made the choice to kill Megatron and end the war. I have yet to follow through on it. My conviction is present, but my routine and long-learned hopes have continued to stay my blade."

Oh.

Was that why he'd never killed him?

"But why? Why do you bother hoping? He's not gonna listen."

Not until Unicron. Who knew what the chaos god did to drag that out of the warlord though.

That sad smile returned. "I was not always Optimus. As you likely remember from Orion Pax's brief stay on the decepticon warship, he is rather loyal to the idea of Megatronus."

The _idea_

That was familiar.

That was what he did with mechs- they were always an idea, not an individual, a reality. _His_ idea.

His idea of Breakdown didn't want to talk with Bulkhead. His idea of Breakdown wanted protection. His idea of Breakdown wouldn't have gotten an optic repair from anyone but him.

Knock Out gave out a helpless whine. "How do I stop? How do I fix myself from seeing the Breakdown I always thought was real?"

The servo on his shoulder squeezed. It was rather grounding. No wonder Optimus used that gesture so often.

"There is no immediate 'fix'," the Prime answered.

That was not the answer he wanted to hear.

"It is a continuous effort. It requires time and focus. It requires grace."

What? The medic screwed his face up at that weird bit.

"I'm already giving them a lot, why do I have to give them 'gr-"

"Not for them," Optimus interrupted with another brief smile. "For yourself. You must accept the existence of personal mistakes. You must give yourself grace for these mistakes. They are inevitable for all of us. Trying to pretend they will never exist will halt the progress of change. Trying to avoid them will lead to friction, rigidity, and a breakdown of your choice to change when one does inevitably arrive. The only way to truly follow through on a choice to change is to accept mistakes and move forward from them."

He understood what was being said but what did it mean?

"Then what do I do now?" he asked.

A second servo joined the first on his other shoulder.

"I suggest you go on the next perimeter patrol to think over all that has been said," Optimus offered. "And then go to those you believe you have impacted and discuss the mistake. Be truthful. A mistake almost always impacts more than just one being; it is not fair for one alone to search for a remedy."

At the least, his engines had quieted down; it was just his vents choking now.

"Ah-okay," was the only response he could think of at the time.

Optimus gave him a nod and another one of those rare smiles. Knock Out felt like he'd seen the expression more in this one meeting than he'd ever seen in the past combined together.

"Thank you for telling me. Hiding struggles often makes them fester rather than solve themselves."

It was less of him wanting to hide per se and more just that he hated to show Optimus his imperfections. This was a last resort.

"Well, thanks for not calling me crazy," Knock Out smirked. "And for the advice."

One last nod and then the Prime lifted his servos off.

"Your spark is in the right place," he said.

The medic shrugged. "It's not my spark. It's my head."

His spark was just fine seeing the world the way it always was seen. It hurt trying to pay any sort of attention to others rather than vice versa.

His spark hadn't had a clue why he was trying to blend with autobots except to keep itself alive. It was his processor that was stuck thinking about all these new things they apparently felt that he longed to too.

They separated. The big mech limped his way back to the desk. Knock Out was reminded that he needed to look at that leg. Right now, he was pretty sure finding yet another distraction wasn't what he was supposed to do. The repairs would wait until after he'd 'thought it all over' and gone to talk with Breakdown.

So he started for the door. Arcee moved away from the wall to join him silently.

"Knock Out."

The medic paused at the door. Optimus was lowering himself to his seat again, but was speaking as he did so.

"Learning from mistakes is the best way to avoid them. But I do not believe you should share every detail of your old time with everyone. Be honest with your partner about your purpose here, but use discretion with all the details of your home dimension."

The concern wasn't that grounded. He'd been good about that so far, hadn't he?

* * *

Arcee wasn't talking.

At first, he figured that was because she was trying to give him time to do what Optimus had said to and 'think'.

After they'd both transformed at the perimeter and walked along together, he started thinking that maybe wasn't it.

Knock Out didn't like the quiet.

"So." Arcee finally spoke up. She was looking ahead rather than him while they walked. "Time traveler, ey?"

He kicked a few stray scraps of metal away as he walked.

"You heard it first," he said.

They walked a bit more before she started up again.

There was something in her voice that made him uneasy. It wasn't hostile, but it sounded like it was missing something.

"Sounded like you liked me in that world."

"Yeah," he finally managed to summon his trademark grin. "I cared a lot about you."

The two-wheeler looked off to her left, even further away from him.

"Oh."

Alright, now he was _really_ uneasy.

"Why do you sound like that?" he started. "Why-"

Arcee interrupted stiffly.

"Why'd you do it?"

_Why'd you do it, Knock Out?_

That Arcee had sounded amused when she'd said it. This Arcee sounded lacking.

"If you were able to come back, why couldn't you go back further? Just a few months further?"

Knock Out blinked.

"What?" he asked.

Arcee finally looked at him. She wasn't angry, but she still seemed...

Well, she wasn't looking like great moral support right now.

"If you cared a lot about me, why didn't you prevent me from losing another one of my partners?"

And then it hit him.

Both Arcee's identical voices seemed to meld in his head, saying things neither said.

_Do you know me at all?_

Didn't she realize by now? He couldn't know people. Not her, not Breakdown, not even-

The spiral of unpleasant thought interrupted.

Something had shot through the air and stabbed into his upper arm. It was a small capsule; prongs digging in his plating, one digging in deep to interface with his neural net.

"-th-e frag?"

He couldn't move. His frame was paralyzed. Scrap, oh scrap.

Next to him, Arcee had sprung forward as a shield, guns out and pointing at nothing. Another one of the capsules shot towards her and, despite her agility, it hit Arcee in the shoulder while she was jerking away.

The air nearby shimmered.

Holographic technology faded away until a dark ship loomed up over them both. Its sudden presence made his spark spike out in a panic that his body couldn't make a move from.

"I _hate_ to break up such delightful drama-" a new voice interrupted. His optics whirred to look down from the ship to the mech who had also shimmered into view; at least they could move, even as the rest of his frame was stiff. A skull painted face grinned at him. "-but I have a job to do."


	68. Down With The Queen

_AN- Final scene is a flashback. Slight violence warning._

* * *

Since the first disappearance, Soundwave had stopped his usual work. Hunting the autobot base on Earth, balancing the _Nemesis_, searching for predacon fossils- all were put on a brief hold.

Call it intuition. Experience. Or just simple suspicion.

Soundwave and Laserbeak utilized their remote connection to the space bridge in order to move to Starscream's last location. The seeker's decepticon signal had been muted along a craggy mountain range. There were slight mars left behind that could be caused by his heels. Tracking by that alone would not be simple.

The surveillance officer and the drone flew from that area to investigate from the air.

Other cybertronians would not have noticed what they did. Soundwave was patient; he had tools most did not. Where others would fail, he rarely did.

There was a signal nearby. Muted beneath rock and metal. Underground. And hidden from most by frequencies used to disguise and mask signatures.

He recognized the signal. It belonged to a traitor. It was a traitor who had already been given too much leeway to impede Lord Megatron's plans. A traitor who had somehow followed both factions here where she could no doubt impede those plans further.

As Soundwave surveyed the area, more signals joined and were half-muted by the masking frequencies. He counted two autobot signals and one decepticon. Likely Starscream. The location of this unknown subterfuge on her part was marked and made ready to send back to the _Nemesis_.

The questions he was left with related to the hows. How was she able to get here? How did she get access to such masking technology? How was she abducting at least three different capable fighters without dying yet?

He would need those answers.

So Soundwave dove closer while Laserbeak remained in the safety of the air.

* * *

Once dragged on board, she'd been attached to a table in a cluttered room. The unknown mech signaled for the lights to come on dim before dragging Knock Out to the berth nearby and strapping him down. Arcee looked away from the other to take stock of their location.

It didn't look good.

Especially not the shelf covered in everything from limbs to helmets.

The mech watched her optics jolting around and grinned.

"Like my trophy case?" he rasped. He commed something silently to his ship that made it begin moving, before walking closer.

A device on his arm pointed at her and scanned over her frame. The mech looked at it, seemingly taking stock of the scan, before looking at her again.

"Don't worry. I'll be keeping a part of you for that shelf too."

Yeah, that did nothing but make her worry more. Arcee would've growled if she could move her mouth. She would've already killed this guy if she could move at all.

After doing the same for Knock Out (asking about the electric staff inside his subspace jovially, as if the immobilized mech could actually respond to the questions), the stranger moved to lean against one of the walls of his messy room.

"That'll have to wait," he spoke again. "First, my client wants to deal with you both. I assume you know her style?"

Her. _Her_. There weren't enough _her's_ left alive to make narrowing one down impossible.

And there were even fewer who could fit this bill of operations.

"I told her she had to leave pieces for me. Wouldn't surprise me if she forgets that. She always did get carried away when playing."

Frag.

Oh frag

_the musk_

_the acid_

_the **rot**_

No.

Arcee struggled against the commands for immobility spread over her neural net. She struggled against them but it felt like the bonds at that interrogation room. The dim light of this room felt like the dark ambiance of that den. The rot was everywhere, on her olfactory sensors, in her gustatory receptors, everywhere and it tasted like Tailgate, smelled like them both, felt like Knock Out burnt to nothing-

She hardly noticed when the ship came to a stop again. She couldn't register any of the deceptively light words the green mech had been saying while they flew. She couldn't access her chronometer to find out how long it had been.

But when she'd been dragged out of the room-

-the interrogation room slipped away as well. The musk was replaced by the promise.

_**Not this time**_

She was tossed down the landing ramp and rolled to a stop on rough metal. They were planetside again. As a scout, she recognized terrain. This was a layer down from the surface. Its corrosion was natural. They were in a natural cave structure then.

The information was filed away. It would help her. All of this would.

Every bit of information she found while immobile would help her make sure this was the last time. The end.

Knock Out rolled to a stop next to her. The unknown mech strolled to them both easily. He grabbed one of her winglets with one servo and the red mech's spoiler with the other and started to drag them.

They weren't dragged far. At least when she was dropped again, Arcee's head was pointed towards the makeshift throne in front of them.

It was her. Legs crossed, extra limbs splayed behind her, optics overbright.

On others, that would hint the recent use of high grade or some sort of booster.

On Airachnid, that state seemed to arrive only after she'd been hurting someone.

As if placed there for evidence, Arcee caught the glimpse of energon stained silver slumped on the ground by the throne.

There was no time to think about that.

"Lockdown!" the dark femme uncrossed her legs to stand. "You _do_ deliver."

The mech above them didn't react much as Airachnid strode towards him.

"Unlike you, thus far," he said, although there was no growl in his voice despite the words. "I haven't had a good challenge with any of your special targets."

Airachnid poked Arcee with a pede, pushing her body onto its back. Good. Now she could see the two above her and find more information that would take them down.

"Really?" her voice was coated in thick, faux surprise. Arcee hated how it always dripped with that falseness. "Dear _Ar-cee_ didn't give you a good fight? That hardly seems like her."

Un-paralyze her and then she'd show them a fight.

The one apparently named Lockdown chuckled. "They were busy having trouble in paradise when I got them."

It didn't matter now.

Much as it had hurt, it didn't matter now. She could afford to grieve over reality's cruel twists after she'd left this nightmare behind.

With a pat to the other's face, Airachnid turned to stroll back for her stupid throne.

"Well, _Ar-cee_? Do you like what I've set up for you?"

She hated that voice, but-

_the musk, the sound of that laugh_

-she feared it more. And Arcee hated feeling weakened.

"Lockdown." The thick mirth was gone. "I don't want them unable to make noise."

The mech crouched down and felt for the capsule buried on her plating. He found it after a moment and plucked it off.

Feeling returned at a woozy crawl. Arcee kept herself stock still, despite the wash of commands and pangs.

_Not yet_; she kept herself frozen.

"Better," Airachnid's smile returned.

Not for her. Arcee waited until Lockdown was crouched next to Knock Out to do the same before she rolled up. A blade was out as soon as she was on her pedes; the mech stopped his action to look at her in surprise, but had no time to move at her. The two-wheeler jumped forward and swung it at the insecticon's face.

Purple optics widened. The other femme didn't move out of the way in time, but her face still had time to move through emotions. The surprise was met by-

That Earth cave again. The glee. The request.

Psyching her out again.

_make it hurt make it hurt make it_

Arcee's blade jerked up in surprise and buried into the metal of the throne rather than her enemy.

_Dammit!_

Airachnid was laughing. She barely could hear the noise. She was busy consumed by how she had failed again; how the other had managed to psyche her out once more.

The arm was tugged and the blade slid loose. A kick sent her back to the ground again. This time, that slagging webbing went with her.

Failure kept her from fully panicking. That would come, she was sure, but for now Arcee was busy duly considering how the one chance they'd had was wasted.

Wasted just because she couldn't bring herself to do what Airachnid had implied she wanted.

"_There's_ that _fight_," the femme on the throne said with glee. Arcee couldn't register it. "I think-" she tapped her lips with a black claw. "-I think we should play a _game_."

No.

_No_

_-Tailgate!-_

She resigned to hearing its rules.

"You run, I chase. Simple?"

Airachnid crossed her legs again to better lounge.

"We're deep within an insecticon natural hive. It's obviously been out of use for some time, but most of its tunnels are still functional." She smiled at Arcee only while the two-wheeler glared back silently. "There are over seven exits to the world above. If you can manage to escape, well. You avoid everything I had planned down here."

Despite knowing it was a mistake- a weakness bared for one who'd burn away all weaknesses- Arcee spat: "I'm not running and leaving anyone else down here."

The way those optics narrowed to gleeful crescents made her spark convulse smaller.

"Oh, I hadn't assumed so. See, you _won't_ be alone in these tunnels," Airachnid gestured to the entrances around them. "I'll be here. And all of the others I'm planning on bringing in will as well. If you should run into any of them, well...feel free to work together, but I expect running into others would just spell out a fight."

She reached down to push the paralyzed gray frame down to the floor with the others. Arcee determinately ignored Starscream as he crashed to a stop near her. The insecticon queen looked between them and smiled again.

"I heard all about how he killed your latest partner," Airachnid laughed. "Mostly from him. It doesn't seem that running into him would end in anything but a fight."

Let her think that.

As much as she wanted Starscream to pay for Cliffjumper, Arcee was far more willing to get away from Airachnid and contact the others. Whatever it took (except killing her, it seemed, the cynical part of her mind remembered how she had psyched herself out of striking fatally moments earlier).

"Or he doesn't have to play at all. I could just take care of him first. Would you like to watch? You can never say I don't offer you what we both know you want."

_Keep talking, Airachnid._

_Just keep talking._

Losing interest, the insecticon moved her focus back to Lockdown.

"Do me a favor and let them all loose in the southwest cavern," she ordered. "Bring the other two to me before you drop them there. You can join me in the game after you're finished."

"Do you want me to disable their T-Cogs?" he asked.

The insecticon shook her head.

"No. Just let them run and fight."

The other nodded.

"I want the prod," the mech said. "And her arm blades will do nicely enough for my collection."

Airachnid gave a smile that carried no mirth.

"In good time."

Let them think that.

Arcee clenched her fists beneath the webbing.

Let them both think it.

But there would be no trophies this cycle.

* * *

He'd finally had that paralyzer pulled off after Lockdown (a bounty hunter that Knock Out was vaguely familiar with) finished dragging them to a cavern thankfully empty of Airachnid.

The insecticon's timing really could _not_ have been worse. The cycle had already been a whirlwind. Seeing the way Arcee looked so betrayed (he thought she did, at least, but how could he tell? He saw what he expected to, not what was there) while she asked him about a partner Knock Out had honestly never considered made him feel...

He didn't know. All he knew was that he really considered himself Arcee's friend. Some friend he made if he never once considered the guy she'd talked so often about during his old timeline.

Now was not the time to be stressing about that but he couldn't stop himself. Even in the panic he was feeling over whatever this was here, his head wasn't at its best operating state. It was busy in depressing distraction.

Not a good mix. He needed to focus on survival here. And preferably murdering Airachnid.

Arcee was the last dropped off. She'd already had her disabler removed, so they'd kept her from being left alone until now. Lockdown leaned over the other two and tugged their immobilizer capsules off as well. He slid them into his subspace, smirked, and disappeared.

As soon as his functions seemed returned enough, Knock Out teetered over to Arcee. He slid his claws through the web.

Still sure she was upset with him, he backed away while she stood up on her own. Getting an offered servo knocked aside would make that more real than he cared to let it be.

Arcee vented for a moment. Wrapped up as she had been, those vents had been covered to the point of almost non-functionality.

"Did...you see...where we came from?" she asked slowly while her frame crawled down from its overheated state.

Knock Out shook his head. "No. He made sure it was disorienting."

"Frag..." Arcee growled. "We could've gone back and killed her."

Didn't he know it.

"Don't you have your loyal autobots coming for a rescue?"

Right. He'd forgotten about the extra. Knock Out turned to see Starscream's arms crossing. They were missing their missiles; blue stains were there in the missile's place. One less weapon for their advantage and one less weapon to fear getting used on them.

"We didn't get the chance to send an emergency beacon out after we got nabbed," the medic answered the taunt while crossing his own arms.

The seeker sneered. His optics seemed glued to the brand on Knock Out's chest.

"If we can't go back to get her," Arcee interrupted the stare off. "-then we should at least try to get to the surface and call reinforcements."

"You _know_ there aren't really any exits for us," Starscream spat.

It did seem likely. But false hope was still something to base a plan on.

"Of course not," the femme snapped back at him.

Knock Out slipped out from where he'd been standing between the two. The mental crossfire was tense enough to feel while he was there.

"But until we get Airachnid in our reach, we can't just stand still waiting for her. Come on, Knock Out," she waved at him. He started up behind her.

A moment later and Starscream's heels were clipping behind them both. Arcee kept casting glances backwards to make sure they weren't about to get disemboweled.

The insecticon tunnels were far taller than they sensibly needed to be. Some winded narrower and tight before twisting open into a cavern. Signs of past life were around in the form of decayed insecticon shells or the crunching dried wings underpede.

Lovely, really.

After what felt like at least half a jour of wandering (but Arcee was a scout; what felt like aimless movement probably was supported by some sort of plan on her part), he tried to set a servo on her arm. Optimus did that enough; it was supposed to be friendly.

"Sorry," he heard himself saying. "Earlier, I didn't-"

Arcee didn't break her stride.

"Not the time," she cut him off and there was a strain in her voice. He felt like it was because of him, but it may have been a product of the nightmare around them.

Finally, she pulled up to a brief stop.

"Wait here," she said before jumping up to grab a hold of one of the ledges above them. The two-wheeler pulled herself up and over, disappearing within a smaller tunnel he hadn't noticed was up there.

If Airachnid caught up with them-

Or with her, alone, exploring an upward leading cave-

Knock Out reached into subspace and pulled his prod free.

If she did show, he wasn't about to be caught unaware.

Near but cautiously far, Starscream flexed his talons.

"So he didn't take yours as well?" the seeker asked.

What?

The confusion seemed to be evident enough to the other.

"Your transformation," he elaborated. "He didn't disable yours too?"

"You can't transform?" Knock Out asked, looking at the long talons of the other. "Those are your only weapons?"

Scrap. He'd been rather hoping at least one of his companions would have long ranged weaponry at all times.

Starscream sneered and looked away.

"Of course he didn't touch you. You always get treated special."

He devolved into a high-pitched mockery of the medic that Knock Out did not appreciate one bit.

"Shut that up," he ordered. "You're going to get us attention."

"Isn't that what you'd want?" Starscream shot back.

What the ever loving frag. Did he want Knock Out angry?

The medic stomped halfway over to the other. Starscream noticed and there was a quick flash of a grin that made him feel like he'd just walked into a trap.

"I never took you as suicidal. Do you want Airachnid to find us and finish what she started?"

"I never took you as one of Prime's little pet redemption projects," the other replied.

Red optics glared at red optics. The seeker strode the other half distance to stand over the medic's head.

"Do you _want_ to fight?" Knock Out snapped incredulously.

Starscream pushed a claw up against his autobrand.

"Oh, doctor," the seeker purred. "I don't just want to fight. I want you dead."

The shorter mech's optics widened. In the brief surprise, he stepped back.

"You're no less murderous than I, and yet you are able to parade around with them? You are able to consume decepticon time from your defection? You're going to call all your moral family over to rescue you while I'm left as always to scrape my way out of this mess? You are a walking example of my own darkest hours. I'd rather I never see your traitorous face alive again."

* * *

The _Death's Head_ prowled over the surface of the old hive. It was a good amount of clicks away from the location all of those eager transmissions by both factions had been sent. Lockdown didn't assume that made it safe. If the cons really wanted to find them, they could. It was as simple as that. His client didn't seem to care. She was probably just assuming her job would be done here before either army turned their attention on her. He'd told her that taking five of them wasn't going to go unnoticed for long. There wasn't going to be much time for her little hunt even after he did the heavy lifting for her.

This area was unpopulated enough. He steered his ship towards the ridge where he'd grabbed the decepticon 2IC at; it was on the way towards where the cons had set their own spot up.

All he needed was to lure either of his remaining targets over here.

The _Death's Head_ touched down and remained cloaked. Lockdown himself let most of his body disappear under the alien shielding he wore. No good anyone seeing him off the bat.

A decoy SOS was set up on the ground at a spot he would have a good aim towards. Starscream's emergency signal pulsed from the bottom of a small crevice. The bounty hunter set up over it; his immobilizing weapon was braced between the rocks and he waited.

There was quite a bit of waiting involved in this profession. Many of the stupid younglings who tried to join just to 'look cool' had no idea how true that was.

He kept focus on his comm while he waited in that position. If Airachnid needed him, frag getting another trophy. The three they had were good enough, so long as he had a leg up over them.

Not that he really expected Airachnid to need him. All three trophies were too busy trying to escape (they wouldn't; he'd closed off every exit, either the old fashion way or by setting up turrets outside them, and they were running with multiple disablers in their systems) to really pose a threat to her. And even if they did all try at once to attack her, the remote disablers would keep them from doing much.

Airachnid said she liked a hunt, but that was only true if she knew she could win.

The _Death's Head_ tracking system alerted him where he lay. There was a cybertronian approaching.

High speeds. No sign of resistance to the terrain.

Almost certainly airborne then.

Which meant it was almost certainly a decepticon.

But there was only one. Lockdown growled, frustrated. He'd been hoping for a squad. Or (since the autobot armies were currently that small) the whole slagging army. That would've increased his odds for getting one of the two remaining targets.

At the sight of the approaching mech, his frustration slipped away.

It was one of them. And there were no reinforcements to bother Lockdown.

The sleek form transformed and dropped into the crevice where the decoy SOS was.

_Soundwave._

As disgusting as it was, Lockdown felt a flush of fear. This mech was a legend; among the decepticon ranks (which Lockdown had spent some time working with), there were enough theories and stories to make any sane mech fear the silent officer.

The unease washed through and out. The bounty hunter kept his grip on the weapon easy but steady.

Sure, he'd never hunted quite as famous game- but that didn't mean he couldn't win. Legends or not, Soundwave wasn't the supernatural being some made him out to be.

Besides, if he was, it would just make Lockdown's success more infamous.

On the lower ground, Soundwave let a data cable unspool and slink towards the decoy signal. His visor didn't watch it work. It was busy staring up as though...

He could tell the _Death's Head_ was there. Lockdown didn't know how (he presumed it was radar; his defenses were weaker in that regard), but he could.

And that meant-

Soundwave jerked his head from the ship to the bounty hunter.

Lockdown shot.

A capsule tore through the air. Its flight was only a few nanos but time felt slowed. The bounty hunter, in this suspended animation, felt sure his target would somehow slip out of the way. The legends made him out to be deadly fast, agile, able to dodge anything no matter how fast.

It landed instead. The silver pod rested on Soundwave's blue plating; its main prong sliding in deeper to paralyze the mech.

Soundwave did nothing. Cautiously, Lockdown stood up from his hiding place and approached him.

No response. No sudden, unparalyzed movements.

A part of him wanted to crack some comment on winning.

Normally he would.

But even after he'd loaded the surprisingly heavy mech onto the Death's Head without any sign of trouble, Lockdown couldn't help but feel he'd been _given_ the win.

* * *

As stupid as it was, Starscream got his wish. They did fight. Not at that exact moment, but the tension there grew until it just couldn't be ignored.

First, Arcee had slipped down again (rolling over with her grip kept tight on the ledge before she dropped herself in a manner that Knock Out was quite impressed by) and pointed at him.

"We're clear," she said. "There's a cave-in where the roof breaks apart."

It was all she said. The two mechs moved to the spot and one by one pulled themselves up through. It was a tight squeeze for Knock Out. He couldn't stop the hiss when the metal overhead scraped off polish and paint. Lovely.

This tunnel was far flatter than the main hives were. It almost seemed unintentional. Like the collapsing Arcee mentioned had made a pocket rather than the insecticon digging's had.

The pale light of Cybertron slipped down through cracks. When the scout stopped beneath the largest of these cracks, Starscream spoke up.

"Did it not occur to you that the bounty hunter left traps at exits like this one?" the seeker sneered. "It would be Lockdown's forte. _I_ have worked with him often enough to know; _unlike_ you both."

The raging egotist. Knock Out rolled his optics.

"There was an automated turret," Arcee replied stiffly. Her voice always went stiff when she had to address that con. "I disposed of it."

"And I would rather not stay down here any longer," the medic added before placing his staff on the small of his back and reaching up to grab at the edge of the crack above. He pulled up carefully, more than a bit nervous about some other trap getting him; when nothing happened, he finished slipping up and out.

The hive was sitting on a dusty plain. It wasn't the trademark red of the Sea of Rust, but it seemed in that moment just as large.

He wasn't the only one who thought that. When the other two were above, Starscream's optics widened.

"Scrap," he whined.

At first, Knock Out thought it was a response to his lack of T-Cog function at the moment.

The next comment changed that thought.

"We could run for clicks and all they would need is to fly their ship overhead. There's no hiding from an aerial view out here."

That unpleasant thought sent them all into even darker moods.

"Comms are still jammed here," Arcee shook her head. "We have to get far enough away from whatever jammer that's nearby."

So they still attempted to run despite the unhappy feeling of pointlessness. If Knock Out knew sadism in any way like Airachnid did, she would wait until they'd made it a good distance before letting Lockdown fly over to stop them all again.

They did make it a decent distance before the ship shimmered into view.

Something was wrong though. It didn't just loom overhead and shoot its starboard cannons. It didn't slowly drop down for retrieval.

It listed to one side. Its movement wasn't purposeful or smooth.

There was a stall in panic. Once the ship shot downwards (where they unfortunately happened to be), they finally decided unanimously to move.

Arcee tore to the right. Knock Out started to follow until one of the points of the outward miscellania stabbed the ground there. He changed course and raced to the left instead. A _much too heavy for his looks_ weight dropped onto his altmode and talons dug into his window panes while he drove.

If it hadn't hurt so slagging much and ruined perfectly good panes, Knock Out would have understood the reasoning behind the currently grounded con's decision. As it was, as soon as he was far enough away from the crashing ship, he shot out of altmode and flung Starscream away.

"You-!"

The medic looked at the horrid mess he'd become over this long cycle. The dust laying on the metal of this plain had rushed away from the crash. It was coating his formerly red plating with white powder.

"Do the autobots know you're still more upset about your looks than you are the fact one of them just died?" Starscream laughed.

Died? Dazed, Knock Out looked back at the black mass smoking on the ground. He tried to comm Arcee and received only static: they were still jammed. It didn't mean she was dead.

"I mean, it's good riddance. Two-wheelers are just as detestable as eight-leggers."

He may be convinced she was likely alive, but he wasn't going to sit and listen to this. His servo dropped to the small of his back and grabbed his staff. Still facing the crash, he extended the prod out.

Starscream started to laugh even more vigorously. Knock Out wasn't sure he'd ever heard it sound quite like it did now.

The seeker smiled wide at him when he turned to face him in a battle stance. Talons flexed. The staff flickered to life.

And then Starscream got his fight.

But it was a fool's move. It was a stupid wish. Starscream was more than deadly, but only really when he was fighting from the air. On the ground, he fought dirty- but then, Knock Out always fought dirty.

The smile was gone by now. Claws cut through plating, kicks impacted, electricity roared. The red mech barely had time to wonder if this had been a long time in coming. He'd never really interacted with the Starscream from this time, but the stories brought back from the arctic did imply that the seeker had a grudge against him for making it into the autobots when he hadn't.

Maybe if the idiot hadn't tried to brag about Cliffjumper-

The name reminded him of Arcee and how she'd been so caught up, so upset, so unnerving over his honesty because she hadn't gotten her partner alive when he had-

The tension there made him frustrated. Sick of this stupid fight and how it was preventing him from going for the wreckage to look for Arcee, the medic managed to hit the seeker onto his front on the ground and shoved his prod forward.

The staff stabbed through an upper section of wing and tore into the dusty metal below.

"Not so flighty on the ground, are you?" Knock Out quipped sardonically and activated the weapon. When the volts wore off, he planted a pede on the smoking back. His servo turned into a buzzsaw.

There was no one stopping him. Arcee was somewhere else behind the crashed ship. There was nothing that should have held him back. Her reaction to his honesty about what he was doing here in this time had cut him deeper than he wanted to admit; despite Optimus's earlier words, he felt like a fake autobot. Still vicious, still remorseless over the idea of tearing a mech apart, still the medic who'd once fried Motormaster and experimented on C.Y.L.A.S.- still _himself_, despite it all.

The blade stayed unmoving.

"You know..." the medic spoke up, despite the quiet rage of the other revealing Starscream had no desire to listen. "I used to think we were friends. Then I realized you _can't_ have friends. But I couldn't either back then. I don't know if-"

His engines let out a rumbling sigh.

"I don't know."

Using the leverage from his still planted pede, he tugged the staff out of the still form. A moment was all it took for Starscream to start pushing up from the ground in sputtering fury.

Warning enough. Knock Out backed away and folded into alt mode to tear away towards the crash.

He prepared to leave behind the field of dust and a wasted opportunity.

* * *

There was a whole lot of yelling behind him.

Some of that was just coming from Dreadwing. Some of that was being directed at him while he ran away. Starscream sounded rather upset at being left to the other angry seeker.

Thing was, he hadn't left to escape Dreadwing.

Well, that had been part of it. He had no desire to get cut into little bits while that guy was on an obvious rampage.

But he had mainly gone to get reinforcements. Starscream was a smart mech, but he was never going to win one on one against a fully armed Dreadwing.

So Knock Out had ran out of the medbay to the sound of the seeker yelling at his departing back and drove as fast as he could until he ran (literally; he'd turned a corner and crashed into the warlord's legs) into Megatron.

"Dre-Dread- and Star-uhh- in the medbay-"

While he transformed to stand up and rest off some of the buzzing excitement of panic, Megatron had stomped down towards the medbay.

Knock Out remained where he was even after he heard the distant yelling and sound of a fusion cannon. He'd done his job. He'd kept his one friend on this crazy ship alive.

Never let anyone say he wasn't loyal to the people he picked.


	69. Soundwave Makes His Move

Far outside Cybertron's system, a mercenary jerked his head up from the ship controls where it had been laying. Mandibles flicked out.

Sitting nearby, a blue mech was staring at him.

"Are we good to go?" the boss asked.

Razerhorn gave a nod. "Queen is gone."

Shadelock's mouth curved into a smile.

"Good. Prepare for approach."

Far from the bounty hunters, the insecticons of Earth felt their hive die. The connection held together by the fuzzy, mind numbing presence of a queen fell into oblivion. Apart, they drifted and cried for a queen to bring their minds into unity once more.

But separated from demands, they searched for these queens from options the others did not.

* * *

The disabler was high quality. Soundwave couldn't help but appreciate the technology of this bounty hunter. It was a mesh of cybertronian and alien technologies. Its ability to interface with the peripheral neural net from any point on a mechs frame was especially useful. Unlike other paralyzers, the gunsmech did not have to be a masterful sharpshooter to disable their opponent. Most long distance weapons of that caliber were only able to interface with the central neural net- and landing a head shot with any sharp object ran risks outside just the high possibility of missing.

So he could appreciate the technology, no matter how non-effective it was on him.

Soundwave long ago disabled every system in his frame. While others naturally functioned through unconscious habit and memory, he had set off manually controlling every function from a backup neural net well protected in his frame.

This capsule was little more than pesky. It attempted to run its interfacing code and was instead crushed under every manually crafted safeguard Soundwave utilized- all of which occurred within the first nano-klick after being shot.

His confidence in his own firewalls was what had convinced him to remain in the line of fire, after all. They held up, as he had believed they would. And acting as though he was immobilized would allow him a closer look at this bounty hunter's plan.

And Airachnid's, wherever she was. Her signal remained muted in the area he had first noticed it at.

His database found the name Lockdown and pinned it to the mech moving cautiously towards him.

It also provided weaknesses, tics, and a good few of those other mercenaries currently being paid to take him down. Not that Lockdown knew any of this. The mech only saw an immobile, silent frame.

He was dumped onto a berth in a room on board the _Death's Head_ (IG-2000 class vessel. Last updated in the decepticon databases as having two deckard cannons. Preliminary scan suggested the presence of Xxon parts and samus-blasters. Capable of holographic cloaking and outfitted with radar distorters. Posed a threat to the _Nemesis_ and small decepticon armies here. Soundwave would need to disable that threat) and watched very carefully while the ship took flight.

_«Lockdown»_ the comms onboard the ship crackled to life.

The bounty hunter glanced up at the nearest speaker. "What?"

There was impatience in his voice. Emotional modulations. He was irritated. It stemmed from nervous worry. He was uncomfortable with Soundwave's passive presence. He knew the paralyzer seemed unlikely to keep the officer down.

The fact that he'd shot him with four more after getting him into the ship, placed an inhibitor claw over his T-Cog, and tried to disorient his functionality with a vandarin device betrayed that just as his snappishness betrayed his fear.

_«Do you have another from my list?»_ Airachnid asked.

His motionless frame was stared at closely before Lockdown answered "-go ahead and put me down as the first to capture Soundwave."

Not the first. Likely not the last.

And not without Soundwave's permission and acting along.

_«Wonderful!»_ the insecticon purred. _«Are you near?»_

Lockdown gave an affirmative.

_«Then come pick me up. Your little defenses didn't keep my lovelies contained so it seems we should use your ship to cut off their hope for fleeing.»_

Soundwave stayed motionless. He stayed frozen through the bounty hunter's reply and the steady descension of the ship. With another suspicious look at him, Lockdown checked his various immobilizers and then lifted him into the second room on board.

A pilot's room. Large enough viewscreen. Semi-complex controls. Soundwave analyzed them and determined the best way to disable them while Lockdown dealt with getting Airachnid onboard. The traitor moved to him once she had walked up the ramp and smiled while she investigated his motionless form.

"Oh Soundwave," she muttered with bright optics. "So stoic. Such bravado. I vow the world will hear your screams by the end of this cycle."

She held far too much pride in her own ability.

The braggarts always had less to offer.

And if the silent had as little? They disappointed no one.

The _Death's Head_ rose again. The darkness of a deep cavern faded into the dim light of the surface world. In moments it was hovering over the dust fields outside. Soundwave watched the change through the viewscreen.

He waited to see what he needed to. While Airachnid and Lockdown stood together- the insecticon pointing at the screen and laughing at the sight of three cybertronians running far too slowly for the ship- the surveillance officer merely looked to take stock of the situation outside.

The air commander (Lord Megatron had already mentioned that, rescinded duties or not, Starscream would keep the title) was out there. Soundwave had come to discover if he lived or not. It had been discovered.

There were two autobots as well, but they were of lesser consequence. One was the traitor. Soundwave would need to deal with him, but Airachnid was a far more important traitor to dispose of now.

With the confirmation that Starscream was still functional, Soundwave sent a ping for reinforcements through Lockdown's jamming frequencies to the _Nemesis_. It would direct those reinforcements to the area of land below; the flat land would allow for airborne visibility that would find Starscream even if he ran far from his current location.

And he would run; if he could access flight, he would have already. Soundwave knew this particular mech's habits well enough to predict actions.

A set of coordinates and a still living decepticon were all he had needed to wait to confirm.

Soundwave stood up. The disabled paralyzer capsules disconnected their useless prongs and clanged to the floor at the same moment as the surprised traitors turned around to see him.

* * *

The crash was worse than Knock Out had first noticed it being.

While Lockdown's ship had first come down on the ground near them, its force drove it over the surface. Metal and stone upended and rent out to both sides of the wreck. Just as it had when he'd looked its way before getting into the scuffle with the seeker, the ship was smoking. The ridge its crash had carved in the ground smoked as well. Its sharp points from the various modifications set on the ship stabbed into the ground or bent behind it.

He could hear Starscream pushing himself up. Didn't matter; right now, Knock Out needed to find someone more important in that wreckage. If she'd been caught by the tip of that holographic 'wing', she could've been shoved the whole distance in front of the ship while it pushed through the ground...

The plan to drive all the way to that wreckage never reached its fruition. Arcee wasn't over there.

She was waiting for him when he turned around from Starscream.

Already in alt-mode, it was easy for her to join him in driving away from the angry decepticon.

When they reached the ridge left by the ship's crash, he was the first to speak.

_«So»_ he commed while they puttered down the side of the makeshift ravine in altmode._ «Glad you're alive. I wouldn't have minded if you'd given me help back there though.»_

The blue bot swerved closer before going back to her previous trajectory.

_«You had it»_ she said in return._ «Besides, I only got there at the end. There wasn't much point getting involved when you'd already won.»_

They started up the other side.

_«Hey»_ Arcee started up again. _«I was there at the end.»_

So she'd said. What did that...

Oh.

Still thinking about Cliffjumper and Arcee and Starscream and all the friend's he'd thought he'd had-

She transformed once they were on the other side of the ditch. Following her lead, the medic folded up as well. With both of them in rootmode again, Arcee was able to grab around his arm with a servo.

"Hey," she said again.

That demanded attention. He gave it all his focus. Well, all of it that wasn't currently glancing back to where Starscream was limping in the opposite direction from them.

"I heard what you told Optimus. I know what you've told me when we've talked. And I heard what you just said to him."

Her growl made it clear she was talking about the con left behind.

"You said you don't know, but I do."

Knock Out moved his optics away from the seeker's movements to look at her glare in full.

"You may not have truly been his, he may not have really been yours; but you _do_ have friends now," Arcee went on.

He'd thought he did but not all of them. Maybe some, but friends with her? Either version of her?

"Cliffjumper-" he blurted out. "I forgot to even consider him. We were on Earth, we could've called for a bridge before Starscream got him- or could've run him off the road earlier-"

Details only known because Arcee had talked with him, hurting, missing her partner, finding a kindred spirit in that- shared so much that just went in and out of him without a second thought.

"Stop." Arcee gave a half smile, optics moving to stare off somewhere midrange rather than at his face. Her servo dropped from him to clench midair before gesturing towards the ship in a wordless order to follow her in investigating it. "I would've done anything to get him back. But this entire situation-...I knew at the time I brought it up that there was no win like that for me or him. If you went back for him, why not go back even further to save the next most recent death?"

This sounded more like what Brainstorm had stressed over than what had actually gone through his mind. Or maybe he had thought about it and it had given him no good answer and no good feelings and gotten shoved aside before its unpleasantness registered. Maybe that. It was nicer to think maybe that was the case.

"And if you'd already done that, why not go even further? Why not go all the way to the start of the war and change it all there? At what point do you cut off, decide this many lives are worth it but all prior ones are not?"

Arcee shook her head.

"Making that choice-determining a cut off point-" she gave a short laugh. "-it's way too much weight on any person to quantify that point. You would've had to find a place and stuck with it anyways. Can I wish it was early enough Cliff could've been saved?" Her voice strangled for a moment before answering tiredly: "Yeah. Of course I do. But not everyone can be saved. So if someone is saved, that should be celebrated; not denied value because it was _just_ some_one_. I knew it. As soon as you told your story to Optimus, I knew it."

They were drawing nearer to the crash. Besides her voice, it seemed far too silent.

"A part of me had already figured that out and it just made it harder to accept for me. Hearing that a death can be reversed when all my efforts were constrained by reality- it hurt. It was so hard to accept that it was real, but Optimus believed it."

Normally, he would say something by now. Being quiet was really not his forte.

It didn't feel like he had anything to say. So long as she was talking, they weren't just standing awkwardly. Or walking, as it was.

"I think any version of me would do anything to save Cliffjumper and want anyone to do the same if they had that power. But I'm not- ...I'm not mad." Arcee looked at him. "I get abrasive when I'm in denial and that's where I was at hearing time travel is possible. Possible for some and not for me. It took me a while to really push that aside. Just because I'm bitter that it's not an option for me doesn't mean you did something wrong by taking the chance you somehow got."

They drew to a stop. The two stepped into the shadow left by the back end of the ship where it was jutting up overhead.

"Do you get it?" she turned on him again. "You're not the guy you were as a decepticon. You took a risk I wish I could take to save a life but you did it to give him a second chance- not just yourself one."

The femme smirked.

"That's a very autobot thing to do."

Starscream and their weak friendship was forgotten. The earlier unease faded; not entirely, but it slid out of his main thoughts.

"Well." He gave a faux cough into a dainty servo. "Thank you."

The smirk grew into a faint smile. Then Arcee let the moment fade to glare at the ship.

"We should go," she said, all business in a flash. "There may be a way to turn off whatever's jamming our comms on board that ship."

He nodded absently.

And then both jolted, staring at the other urgently.

"Wait-" they said as one. Knock Out's optics were wide. Arcee had let a finger fly to the side of her helm.

"We were using them when we drove," she muttered. "That's strange. Why?"

After she'd focused a moment (likely to comm the base for backup), they both frowned together at the silent ship.

"I have a feeling we won't like why," he replied.

With a day like this, all surprises ended up being ones in bad taste.

* * *

By the fading end of the official war, he was a carrier with only a single symbiote. She docked on his chest. Her brother Buzzsaw had a dock on his back, directly across from his twin. It was not used. It had remained empty since the time before the pits.

There were six once.

There were two when he took up a contract in the arena.

There was one now.

It was his symbiotes that had driven him to the pits of Kaon. Two had lived and the passion to keep them alive pushed him forward.

It was his symbiotes that kept him where he was now. Five had died and his mutilated split-spark could find no passion to do anything but remain where he was.

Once, he had killed to avenge a symbiote.

Once, he had killed to support the two left living.

Now, he killed without any feeling at all behind it: not anger, not desperation, not even duty.

So he did not kill very often at all.

But somehow, his symbiotes were responsible for that in even more ways than just the emotional drive. He supposed he could not find that truth surviving. Their split spark was one: he was one-seventh. Far more of life had been them than it had been him.

It was Ravage that started it. It was his death and Soundwave's subsequent actions that nullified any thrill for murder.

The history of his symbiotes had not been hidden knowledge all those millennia ago. Older models could recognize him as a carrier. Lord Megatron had been one such older model. He had known. The archivist that would so often visit knew he had symbiotes and that he had lost them all but two. He knew that Soundwave had gone to the arena because of his symbiotes.

He did not know that it was in part because of his living symbiotes and in larger part because of one dead one.

Lord Megatron had known.

But Orion Pax had heard a different story. He'd been told that Soundwave's starvation had driven him to the pits of Kaon. It was a story based in truth; at the core of it all, that was all it had been.

The murder hardly needed to be told to some little Iaconian. Orion was so innocent it hurt to see. Innocent like Ratbat. Like his other symbiotes should have been before the world had driven them to their life's edge.

He'd tried so hard to keep them alive.

He didn't try hard anymore. Not with the desperate passion that drive brought. Working out of loyalty was far different.

It had happened when he was down to three. Soundwave had not expected to lose the third.

Ravage was strong; he was a protector of his siblings. He was the oldest and the carrier was well accustomed to the ghostly feel of his spark pulsing by his own. He disappeared to find fuel and brought it to the rest. Their carrier began to depend on the feline. Ravage's capabilities for stealth allowed him to steal energon with actual success.

If any of the three symbiotes was to die, and Soundwave had no illusions that they would not, it wouldn't be Ravage. He was too strong. He wanted too badly to protect the rest of them.

The symbiote returned to him in pieces. The moment the sparkbond broke was memorable. It was dulled with time and primarily stored within his back up memory cores, but he remembered it regardless. A spark can always remember the ghost pains of shattered bonds.

The mech had been cocky enough to give the box to him. Not in person, no, but it was there waiting in the corner between _Avital's Storage_ and the cheap club _Grease_. Soundwave still remembered his haunt at the area. The few items within. The box for his symbiotes to rest in while he was gone; lined with padding that had cost him what money he had begged up in that vorn to keep their frames heated while they were disconnected from him. The haunt was at the corner where _Avital's_ steel met _Grease's_ rusted walls. Hardly a place to call home.

The mech thought he'd get away with it too. But Soundwave slipped into _Avital's_ when he was sure security was gone. He moved through the main warehouse until he found its security depot. It was easy to slip in. Easy to hack the firewalls away. Easy to use the outdoor camera feed to see the mech walking into the alley with the box and then leaving again.

Laserbeak found him from the air. Another homeless mech, though one with more access to fuel than they had. Connections with the mob afforded more energon than scavenging, after all. Covered in dull red plating, likely trying to show off color even as it did nothing to hide his own poverty. He knew the mech. They had scuffled over claimed land. Was the murder a response to those scuffles? Or had Ravage stolen from him one too many times?

Soundwave did not know and he did not care. He was busy trembling in rage, in grief- as raw as it all was. He would never have expected at that time that vorns later he could approach death with something more apt to apathy. In hindsight, his younger self was foolish and innocent in a way that the stains of destitution could not affect. Now, Soundwave believed he would only feel a reignition of that passion if his last symbiote offlined. But he would not allow that; he'd taken great care to log Laserbeak as merely a surveillance drone in every decepticon system. They would never target her to get to him. It worked; after all, Starscream had sought to usurp his security with Lord Megatron many times, but never thought to target Laserbeak and no doubt never would.

But at that time, he had no vorns of experience ready and willing to dull the pain or rationalize his thoughts. After the deaths of so many of his split sparks, Soundwave had already felt his capacity to grieve fading. After Ravage, he had hung on to anger in order to feel what he knew from experience, from the three deaths before Ravage's, he should.

After Ratbat, he had let go of it all altogether. But that occured in the war, not before.

The mech had easily admitted to the action and told him to "keep" his "brats" off the mech's "property". He'd laughed at the first strike the lanky carrier administered. _"I could break you with more ease than you can break my finger",_ he'd sworn.

Soundwave ripped him apart.

The rage of the moment was sickeningly powerful. This mech had been careful to tear Ravage into as many pieces as would still be recognizable. He would do the same. He did do the same.

Chestplates split down the middle. Codpiece buried in the spark chamber. Throat cabling stretched and folded over the head.

By the time the sirens of enforcers sounded, he was covered in the luminescent glow of this mech's life fluids. They were soaking the ground he stood on. Laserbeak had returned to her dock and shook there. Soundwave had realized his own servos were jittering.

He'd left the scene as quietly as he came. They still found out it was him. They still found him in his corner by the warehouses and discount club.

And one of the enforcers laughed, said he was impressed. Soundwave didn't want to hear it. He just needed to know if his arrest meant his symbiotes would go to other carriers; to carriers that could provide for them. He didn't want to hear about the murder any more than he wanted to remember it.

There was something disgusting about the way a frame could be so debased. Something sickening about the sound of gushing oils from ruptured lines.

Then the pits came up as an option. He considered hearing those disturbing sounds all over again.

It meant fuel. It meant a room, small as it would be. It meant a small salary, which would never actually amount to enough to buy off his own contract.

That hadn't mattered. All he'd needed to know was that he would be given enough fuel to keep his last two symbiotes alive. He'd been informed that they would not go to a separate caretaker if he were to be arrested. The enforcers didn't care one way or another. They dealt out higher penalties for stealing than they did for murder; since Soundwave was only brought in for how he'd butchered another mech in the slums, they were slow to press charges and quicker to pitch the arena to him. They got a deal on their admission fee the more new gladiators they sent to the pits.

It meant energon and base medical care. And all it required was his own ability to kill. Well, Soundwave had already learned he was capable of doing it. He entered the ring. He hung on to the hope of leaving it with his symbiotes, of providing them the life he used to whisper about to all six in vorns gone by. He fought with a desperate fury to survive and the tactical ability to best use his fragile frame against larger opponents. More vorns went by and Soundwave went from being another expendable to one of the more prized fighters of the ring. He learned how to dispatch an opponent quickly, how to win a fight without more than a move or two on his part, how to excite the crowd through death.

But Soundwave never killed so violently as the first time again. Not in the pit, where the crowd was happier the longer death drew itself out. Not in the revolts and militia, when he worked behind screens or directly at his fellow gladiator's side. Not in the war.

So when he did kill, and he found himself needing to many times over the vorns, Soundwave always worked to do so efficiently.

If it was convenient, then it was convenient. If not, he wouldn't bother.

**This** was a moment of convenience.

* * *

The bounty hunter moved before the traitor.

Lockdown's modified servo began to transform into a saw of some kind. Soundwave's arm hit him in the neck and sent him crumpling down.

Airachnid was beginning to move to the side. Her mouth was opening to speak or just express confusion, shock- Soundwave did not care.

He took a single step over the mech on the floor and thrust his servo through the traitor's helm.

There was no time for a reaction. No time even for reality or panic to set in.

When Soundwave did find a kill necessary and convenient, he always did it quickly and thoroughly.

Metal wet with energon. The fluid swelled up through the single blow; the wet metal slipped slowly off his servo until his digits hung alone in the air. The corpse hit the ground below him.

His attention moved back to the living opponent. A new attack of firewalls slid to the inhibitor claw still locked in place over his T-Cog. It disconnected the interface connection; with it safe to eject from his frame, he pulled the claw off and dropped it. Soundwave let a datacable unspool a moment later. It wrapped around the device and slid it onto the bounty hunter's gut instead.

The gun used on him earlier was sitting against the counter of controls nearby. His secondary cable wove to it and pulled it over.

A different mech would find something amusing about disabling Lockdown with his own tools.

Both threats neutralized, Soundwave turned his cables on the controls themselves.

The holographic shielding was offlined. The engine core was cut from its connection to the rest of the ship. Weapons controls fried.

The _Death's Head_ listed to its side and fell. Soundwave grabbed the nearest solid object and held himself still while the ship dropped.

When the motions stopped, he straightened up again.

The communications jammer was offlined next.

Lockdown was dragged to his trophy room and dropped there. He would either be dealt with by the decepticons when Soundwave returned with a crew to scavenge the ship, the autobots when the two outside no doubt came to investigate, or whatever enemies the bounty hunter had made that were near enough to notice all the _Death's Head's_ shielding falling away.

He returned to the control room before exiting to find whatever other operations Airachnid had nearby.

Before leaving, he stared at the crumpled body.

Most of his symbiotes had gone offline from fuel shortages and weakened sparks. Ravage had been murdered. So Soundwave had made sure his killer could not murder again. What he learned from that about his own capability to murder aside, his younger self had needed to see the killer dead.

The communications officer looked down at Airachnid's corpse.

There was nothing good about leaving her alive. She was an irritant for Lord Megatron and his cause. She was a sadist and those had always bothered Soundwave. The only one he would tolerate was his master. He would see this war to its end for that mech.

But the others that dared cross Lord Megatron did not get that allowance from him.

He considered the autobots outside and narrowed his focus to the blue scout.

Soundwave looked at the corpse and felt nothing.

But a part of him considered that other cybertronians might.

* * *

"This feels like a trap," Knock Out muttered.

They were standing at the dark, open doorway of the crashed vessel.

Why was it open?

This so was a trap.

"I know," Arcee said in reply. Her guns were out at the ready. His own staff was already held, fully extended.

Something in the ship creaked. Both autobots tensed at the sound.

Nothing came of it. No Airachnid leaping out. No bounty hunter letting his invisibility drop.

They took a few more steps. Their pedes reached the ramp.

Arcee was the brave one of the bunch. Knock Out happened to have seen enough horror movies to know what happened to the brave one who went through the dark door first. He took up the rear, attention flickering all around.

The tension grew until they finally stepped inside.

The interior was a mess. Someone had slashed the control panel and left it sparking. There was energon pooled on the floor.

"Lovely," he whispered before pointing at the door. "Can we go?"

Something creaked in the ship again. It sounded like a wall had been torn out deeper inside.

Fragging lovely.

"Couldn't we wait for backup?" the medic suggested.

Arcee sighed in acquiescence and let him go for the doorway.

"Someone has been purposefully disabling the equipment in there," Arcee started, with a scout's trained confidence. "That wasn't done by the crash. Maybe Airachnid and Lockdown got into a fight and she tried to tak..."

The words drifted away.

Both autobots stood at the top of the ramp and looked out over the dust at the dark shape that had not been out there before.

Just as cautiously, they approached it.

The shape wasn't some piece of ship, broken off from damage and fallen.

It was distinctly cybertronian shaped. Pointed pedes. Ten legs. Arms folded on the chest.

No face. At least, it was a heavily indiscernible one with claw shaped holes gaping over where the vital central processing unit of most mechs would be.

The bot at his side stopped her approach. Arcee had frozen, staring at Tailgate's killer where she lay dead on the ground.


	70. Reinforcements and Royalty

Arcee came by to visit when he was cleaning up from a surgery. She invited herself into the re-purposed medbay easily and settled up against a wall with her arms crossed while he busied himself with washing the patient's fluids off everything they had touched.

The conversation was surprisingly easy. Arcee was a good conversation partner.

Somehow, the talk ended up moving from Darkmount II to the autobot base to the 'loot' found in its ruins.

Primarily, the rather unpleasant thing they'd found in those ruins outside Jasper, Nevada.

"I've been meaning to ask about that," Knock Out said.

His conversation partner shot him a look that could only be described as _wry_.

"What?" he shrugged. "Can you really assume I'd just be silent forever about it? I've been awfully confused over why you all had a frozen Airachnid as a housewarming gift down there."

The other autobot shifted a bit where she was leaning up against the wall. Her attention seemed set on the berth and tools across from her rather than the doctor currently disinfecting his drill.

"It was an insecticon pod from that hive on Earth she found. I managed to knock her onto the base of one and it shoved her into stasis."

Mm, yes, well, until Breakdown's undead corpse had stumbled across it.

But better that just go unsaid for now.

"A clean way to deal with her," he said instead, now moving on to drying his tool and servos. "But not the most lovely present to have sitting in your garage, I'm sure."

Arcee's jaw grit; it was just barely audible.

"Not ideal, no."

Somehow, the shortness of the answer seemed a bit different from her normal concise manner.

"So why'd you have her down there?" Knock Out asked.

What? No, she didn't seem to want to talk about it, but he knew a juicy story when it was accidently unearthed amidst the smoking ruins of the autobot base.

"We couldn't exactly leave the pod where anyone else could find and activate it," she answered.

A decent answer. But not what he was looking for.

"You know," the medic said, putting the towel away so he could lean over his arms atop the counter. "-a little bird told me that you had a bit of a history with her."

She glared at him. He tried to brush off what could very well be anger with a smile.

"She killed my partner," Arcee confirmed bluntly.

Not the most recent partner, of course; Starscream was repeatedly clear about being responsible for that.

"And?" Knock Out shrugged again. "Why not kill her too?"

Sure, he understood dragging things out. He'd planned on keeping C.Y.L.A.S. around for a good long time; not just for revenge, but because it was rather handy to have a lab rat for his synthetic energon experiments. Keeping Airachnid frozen was far from as useful.

"Would you believe it's not the autobot thing to do?"

Autobots were no fun at all.

...they were still worth being, bland moral hangups or no.

"Maybe with someone else," he replied casually. "But I happen to know what it's like to lose a partner."

It was the first time he himself had brought it up. Not the first time it _had_ come up, but the first time he'd chosen to move a conversation in that direction. Some of the other bots tried to discuss it with him. Bulkhead especially brought up the whole _Breakdown being dead_ thing more than the others. They all brought it up in hushed tones and soft comforts, but the green mech surpassed them all with this really awkward habit of bringing him 'well wishing' presents and cards to try to 'ease the grieving process'. Knock Out normally loved presents of any kind, but he really wished the wrecker would stop. It made him uneasy. He wasn't sure why, but it did. There was a feeling of inadequacy and missing out when it came up. The misconceptions about the presence of an amica or conjunx bond just made that uneasiness multiply.

In a way, Arcee was different from the others in that she'd never actually brought it up. Referenced it, yes. Gone all 'don't upset the fragile medic' mode, no.

Maybe that's why he didn't feel any threat of looming inadequacy from bringing it up with her.

"If you mean I wanted to kill her for Tailgate, you'd be right," Arcee confirmed just as easily as he had brought up his own dead companion.

But where Knock Out had his confusion over it all regarding how he felt (or didn't) over Breakdown's death, Arcee's edge behind the easiness was evident in the way her arms ground tighter together.

"Why didn't you?"

At the look she shot him, the medic let a patronizing smile slide into place. "Sure, not when you've got her in stasis in your base; that'd be against all those prisoner upkeep codes yo-we have."

Which he knew about because Magnus. Who else?

"But before you knocked her into stasis? There'd have been no rules then."

She scoffed. "That's true," Arcee granted. "But it was more complicated than just that."

Being truly interested in whatever those supposedly complicated details would be, Knock Out didn't even have to feign enthusiasm while he asked for an explanation. The femme shifted against the wall again.

"She said something that threw me off in that fight. I let it get to me."

Moving up from where he was leaning, the medic walked around the counter to face her better.

"Oh?" he hummed.

"Yeah," Arcee kept her response rather flat. "I was all for the idea of tearing her apart until she implicated it's what she wanted."

Ah.

Knock Out figured if C.Y.L.A.S. had started treating their time together like that, he'd have quickly lost taste for that revenge too.

"There wasn't much closure in sticking her in a stasis pod." Metal ground together when her arms tightened even more. "But I didn't want her to win."

"_Her to win_?" the mech parroted back.

She seemed to catch on to what that sounded like. "I'm not talking about that cheap 'if you kill them, you're no better than them' argument," Arcee frowned. "I mean it really _would've_ been given her the win. She couldn't care less if I 'turned into' a killer, didn't imagine putting her down would make me anything like what a monster she was; we both knew I was already a soldier. But if dying painfully was what she wanted, I couldn't keep also wanting it for her. Not in that moment, at least. And after that, I just tried to ignore the fact that the pod was only a few rooms away."

He wasn't really sure what to say to that.

So Knock Out went with: "Well. At least you don't buy into that scrap. Glad to know being an autobot doesn't have to mean being stupid."

That got a snort of laughter and returned the room to a more casual air.

* * *

The reaction of the both of them was to freeze up.

Knock Out was the first to move. He crossed the rest of the distance carefully and prodded the body with his staff. What? Sure, it looked pretty dead, but he'd had a very close encounter with seemingly dead bodies getting up and attacking before. And Airachnid had been involved with that energon vampirism incident, so there was a double reason to be careful around her. Who knew if she was just laying there faking it- waiting.

He shook the thoughts off. The body didn't jump up to tear off his face after being poked.

Alright. He pushed back the rest of the stupid fear and crouched down by what certainly seemed to be a corpse. Experience kept him critical; he leaned over the head and observed the injuries.

Cause of death seemed to be blunt force through the processor. The lower portion of the face was unmarred from everything but fluid that had dripped down there; whatever the killing blow had been, it hadn't touched anything other than the area outside the central processor. It was easiest to kill a mech by slagging the central processor. Whoever had done this had basic anatomical knowledge.

The rest of the body was similarly unhurt. There was energon all over, but that was it. Not twisted limbs, not impacts to the chassis. The way it just lay there without injury, arranged in a manner that was supposedly peaceful, was disgustingly creepy. He decided it was best not to look at it and kept his attention solely on investigating the cause of death.

The four holes clearing through the head betrayed the weapon of choice. Fingers. Brute force could technically allow blunt fingers to clear through plating, but those digits tended not to leave such clean marks. No more than shoving a fist through plating would; with the kind of force needed to actually let blunt fingers cause this damage, the cranium of the corpse would be a whole lot more slagged up. But claws- claws didn't require that force behind them to cut into plating.

That narrowed down the pool of options.

The shapes were too thin and precise to be vehicon claws. That narrowed things even more substantially.

The wounds were also too thin to be Starscream's. Logic said he couldn't have gotten from where they'd left him on the field all the way into the ship to kill Airachnid anyways, but a medic had to cover all their bases.

The larger decepticons were also a no go then. Lockdown hadn't had the right servos for this from what Knock Out had seen of him during all of this.

Some of his files from the _Nemesis_ were brought up and laid over the image taken from the corpse in front of him.

There was a match.

Knock Out felt the unease that had previously been attributed to the whole terrorcon incident return. His fans sputtered and stalled until he sent them manual commands to resume their job.

This was the _Nemesis_ with Smokescreen all over again. This was them about to be slagged, he could tell. He was a traitor technically and Airachnid was living (well, very dead, which was the point) proof of what apparently was being done to decepticon traitors that couldn't pull the Starscream card.

And if the body was put out here while he and Arcee were inside the ship (which it had to have been, since they could swear it wasn't out here before), then the killer was still around.

Still near Knock Out. Who was a traitor.

Frag.

Here, Knock Out had almost been sure the spymaster didn't actually kill. And he was still terrified enough before ever getting the evidence that there was a very fatal side to those one-sided battles.

Call it cowardice but, autobot or not, he rather liked being alive.

"Arcee?" he started hesitantly, turning in his crouch to look at her where she was still standing frozen. "I think Soundwave is near us."

That shook her out of her petrified reverie. The scout shot him her attention while her guns lifted slightly.

"What?"

He pointed at the wounds with his free servo. The other stayed tight on his staff.

"I'm pretty certain this was done by Soundwave," the medic elaborated.

Her focus seemed to freeze onto the ruined helm next to him. Arcee took a moment to shake free and respond to him.

"And for him to have left the body out here," she started slowly, "-he'd need to have been nearby."

His point exactly.

They stayed in uncomfortable silence a moment.

"What do you think was his point with this?"

A question wasn't really what Knock Out had been expecting. Alarm, yes; he would share it. A suggestion to get the frag out of here? Also something he'd agree to in a beat.

"Um." Well, that was ineloquent of him. He hated when he let himself sound stupid. "To give us a message?"

It seemed pretty obvious to him. The message said something along the lines of 'hello enemies, check it out- you're next'- and, while they were distracted with the bait, Soundwave would fly down and stick his servo through their heads too.

Except...

Except he hadn't yet.

And that did take a bit of the wind out of that theory.

Arcee frowned. She looked back behind them at the ship as if Soundwave would be waiting on the roof or in the doorway.

Nothing.

"It feels like a trap," she granted.

Still nothing.

"Why else leave the body without this being a trap?"

Neither had an answer for her question.

Finally, Knock Out stood up.

"Whatever it is, I suggest getting as far away from here as we can," he said.

The frown grew. Blue and pink optics had found their way back to the corpse.

Oh. Right. Vendetta and revenge and all that.

The mech walked back to the scout and tugged lightly on her arm.

"Come on, 'cee" Knock Out muttered. "We shouldn't just wait for the trap to spring."

Even if it should've sprung by now.

Even if it was obvious Arcee didn't want to leave.

Her frame slumped like the life had gone out of it.

"I'd rather not be called that," she said absently. Her attention was still searing into that corpse.

_That was Cliffjumper,_ a different Arcee had told him in a different world with a nostalgic grin. _He refused to call me by just about anything else. Cliff felt like he had to give nicknames to everybody. Even Optimus. He was always a bit of a goofball that way-_

Despite how she hadn't responded to his actual suggestion, she did finally let him tug her away from the scene.

After she'd glanced behind them for at least the fifth time, Knock Out tried talking again.

"Are you upset?"

The words felt kinda stupid to say the moment they'd left his mouth. The femme didn't act like they were.

"Yes-" her answer was short.

Alright. What now?

"Are you mad you didn't get to- you know- be the one? Take her down?" he took a few faster steps so that he was in the lead, able to now glance behind and see her expression.

After a quiet moment, Knock Out found himself trying to fill the silence again. "I mean, no one deserved to do it more, right? I wanted to do the same thing to her and M.E.C.H. after she killed Breakdown. My first Breakdown."

It felt weird talking about that: bringing up the old people he'd spent so much more time with than he had the people in this world. Part of him really assumed he'd never get to talk about that life at all.

And with any of the other autobots, he couldn't.

Heh. The Arcee of his last time had been the first autobot he could try to be honest with because of their similarities; if he brought up some of the more questionable things he'd done over the vorns, she didn't seem blindly scandalized. The Arcee here was the only autobot besides Optimus that he could be honest about; or at least, be honest in that he could tell the whole story.

There was a certain sense of dishonesty about keeping context out of conversation.

"I don't really know," Arcee answered. Her voice turned into a growl directed down at her clenched fists. "Every time I've had her lately, I've hesitated and cost myself the victory. This makes things easier."

Easier, yes. Still upsetting? She'd already answered that one.

"But wouldn't you have rather gotten that closure?" he asked.

"What matters is that she's dead-" her response was clipped. "I've gotten used to having to stand aside for closure."

Yes, but-

Further thought paused. Their walking paused as well.

They both stared out across the dusty plains at the dark little shapes getting slowly bigger.

The team was finally here.

* * *

Although he did not send a message or detailed ping, Dreadwing still understood the manner of Soundwave's 'speech'. It used no words, written or spoken, which made it difficult to grasp. But even with the mute handicap, there were ways to read his transmissions.

Currently, he was investigating what the traitor Airachnid was using as a base of operations. There was a picture of tunnels and the Apex Armor sent to him while he was still flying towards the coordinates he'd been supplied earlier. It meant that Soundwave was preoccupied with his mission. No doubt, he had it under control as well. Dreadwing ordered four of his squadron to break formation and help the TIC regardless. The rest remained with him as he circled downward.

There was a wreckage nearby. He directed the remaining vehicons to investigate it with caution and sent an order to the warship for more retrieval squadrons to be sent for what lay inside the crash site.

The autobots seen near the area were departing. Dreadwing did not tell his soldiers to pursue them. He had little illusions that they would survive such a venture and that made it pointless. The _Nemesis_ would not know otherwise.

He himself touched down to the dusty ground next to the single cybertronian there.

The other seeker had noticed them circling overhead. His head was upturned until Dreadwing had begun to drop; then it had tracked him down and was now sneering at him where he transformed to stand close by. The blue flyer scanned the situation briefly. There were stains on both forearms where Starscream's weapons normally would be. One of these arms was pressed against his gut; the movement seemed absent rather than especially purposeful. That implied there was no gaping wound to be found under where that arm sat.

Small nicks, burns (either thin, cooled acid burns or the more blanketing darkness of electrocution), and some fritzing wires were as much as Dreadwing could see. He was not trained enough to recognize every wound, its causes, or its implications to what repairs would be needed. There was a hole in one wing; the metal around it seemed wrenched, as though whatever had punctured the plating had been tugged out harshly. The wires cut and hanging inside the hole sparked.

As a cybertronian forged with wings, Dreadwing found that particular wound uncomfortable to stare at.

Starscream stumbled over.

"_Commander_-" the vocal sneer was oh so evident in the honorific "-Dreadwing."

His temper remained restrained.

"Are you my rescue team? How _nice_ of Megatron to notice I was missing."

The disrespect did not make him bristle. The lack of temper from the slight was duly accepted. It should have been there. It was not. He could not address that now.

"More than I expected, really," Starscream frowned. "Normally, he prefers to leave the weak behind."

Dreadwing determined, lack of anger or not, he would not patiently listen to whatever the other seeker was going to keep spewing. Starscream had the airs of one starting a tirade and he had no time to listen to it all.

"The predacon returned without you," he interrupted stiffly. "Its behavior on the deck and your continued absence convinced me to report you as missing."

A cycle of expressions crossed the other's face. Normally, they would be far more filtered. It served only to suggest there were more injuries than Dreadwing had noticed at an untrained glimpse.

"_Oh_-" the smaller seeker's sneer returned. "So he didn't even notice I was gone. It took that damn creature to bring attention to my situation. How typical."

Not truly. Megatron never noticed when a vehicon went missing. He put far too much attention into this one officer for his behavior towards the bulk of his army to be so.

Dreadwing was done with this conversation.

"Can you fly?" he asked.

The sneer morphed into a plainly unimpressed expression.

"Of course I can. I just so prefer _limping around_ to the convenience of flying out of this hellhole."

The last term had to be translated before he understood its origin and meaning. But the vitriol with which it had been bit out pretty clearly made its negative connotations clear before he had found the exact meaning.

With only the slightest exvent, Dreadwing pushed away the unpleasantness of his next action and then moved to Starscream's side. The smaller seeker's wings dropped; he took a slight step away and started jumbling words together. They were ignored. Dreadwing pulled one of the injured arms up so that he could step into the space without it and pull the smaller officer against his weight.

If the unpleasant mech he'd been sent to retrieve could not fly, then they would both walk. Dreadwing was large enough to support weights far greater than this.

* * *

They folded down to race towards the approaching team. In altmode, it was not long before both groups had reached each other.

A blue mech transformed first to better run over to the red vehicle's side. Knock Out folded up before Breakdown had gotten to him.

The other autobots were coming nearer as well. Or the two others that were there. Bulkhead and Bumblebee moved over to join them while Arcee shifted into rootmode.

"You're alive!" Breakdown lifted him up, seemingly without thinking about it.

Knock Out couldn't stop from smiling almost as giddily as his partner seemed to be.

"I'm fine, you big lug," he said while shifting around. A moment later and he'd been set down again, although both of Breakdown's servos remained on his shoulders. "About time you all showed up."

He'd been rather worried they wouldn't, after all.

And after the last time he'd interacted with Breakdown, he hadn't exactly expected the blue mech to be practically heading a rescue mission for him. Knock Out had thought they hadn't parted on pleasant terms.

Arcee and Optimus's words suggesting it was nothing irreparable came back as though to laugh at how this situation was proving them true.

"Well, not all of us," Breakdown shrugged. "The new guy was trying to make us wait for info and protocol; the three of us snuck out."

Oh, Magnus would not be happy.

Knock Out, in the meanwhile, had never been so pleased.

"We mostly just kinda wandered around until we got her comm with the coordinates," he continued. "It would've taken all day to come get you, so we convinced Ratchet to bridge us to him to get bridged here."

Wait, wait- what did Ratchet think he was doing? That was using energon the little base on Earth wasn't going to have much of at this rate. Or just...any at all.

"Stupid mech," Knock Out shook his head, before looking back up at Breakdown.

Those mismatched optics looked back.

He was smiling still.

And Knock Out couldn't help but still question _why_.

"You three were risking Magnus's wrath on this. After how we- after what I did earlier, interrupting you and Bulkhead- and all that happened on Earth- I-why'd you bother risking that?"

That revealed far too much insecurity. That just wasn't how he was supposed to operate unless it was meant to get him integrated into some autobot sappy insecurity huddle.

Breakdown looked a little thrown off at the question. He cast a glance over to the others where Arcee was being sandwiched in a hug between the wrecker and Bumblebee. The scout noticed them both staring and waved them over without breaking the huddle at all.

The blue mech didn't go before he had looked back down at Knock Out.

"And leave you in danger?" he shook his head. "Never."

Somehow they both ended up over by the others after that. Or maybe the others had shuffled over to them.

Whatever the case, Knock Out tried to ignore how their hold scratched his paint. Airachnid's fiasco had already ruined it enough; he didn't need to focus on it right at this moment if she'd already scrapped it up.

Or so he told himself.

When the sound of jets approaching forced them to move again, Knock Out chose to drive near his partner and Breakdown chose to drive near him.

He supposed if he hadn't ruined everything by his attitude on Earth, then maybe Optimus was right (unsurprising; it'd be more shocking if the Prime was wrong about something). Maybe it was time to lay all his cards on the table instead of clinging to them so closely.

* * *

The vehicons inspecting the outer hull of the _Death's Head_ never noticed the attack until they had already been shot. The decepticons slid down limply to the ground; the prongs shot at them had already sent them into stasis lock.

A weapon like that wasn't much good in a war.

In bounty hunting? A profession that tended to like taking in targets alive? That was a different story.

Inside the ship itself, Lockdown was where he had been the last jour. He'd attempted to free himself to no avail. Even without the paralyzers, his neck would be nothing short of agony to move. With that sort of handicap, how was he expecting to walk- let alone transform (the inhibitor claw would need to be removed for that, just as the paralyzer would for movement) or get out of here?

Everything about this was slag. Airachnid's plan really had been an idiot's game. The thrill of the hunt really was all he lived for, but this hunt had been impossible. He should've just thrown her off the ship and gone back to his normal life. Contracts. Chases that hardly provided a challenge. Hunts so one-sided they couldn't even be called that.

He should've turned this down. But that was only obvious now that he was stuck on the floor of his own trophy room, face squished against the bottom of the shelf, and neck struts obviously broken.

It was only a manner of time before someone came in here. That, or he did manage to nullify the effects of the paralyzer. Which, again, wouldn't let him go anywhere so long as his cervical structures were disabling him.

Part of him was still holding onto the hope that he'd find a way out first. It slid away when the door behind him slid open. Pedefall entered the room at a brisk pace; someone (or multiple someones, judging by the pedefall itself) had expected a fight and automatically fell to the defensive.

Well, it seemed he would be disappointing them.

"There it is-"

The way his neck was bent, the bounty hunter couldn't see who the voice came from.

"Grab it and let's go."

Any chance that 'it' meant one of his trophies disappeared when two pairs of servos fell on him and carried his disabled frame away.

* * *

Earth had seen its fair share of strange lately.

The news was having a heyday over the attacks that some of the autobots had come back to Earth to deal with. June tried not to watch them. Footage of insecticons wreaking destruction on human cities was upsetting. If it had been any decepticons causing the damage, it would've been upsetting, but with insecticons involved...there was an extra edge at play for her. She'd admit to jumping at more than one noise outside and springing for a window with full expectation of seeing Jasper being torn apart the way those cities on the news were.

All but one of those noises had been nothing but false alarms- a neighbor dropping a pallet, a car backfiring, things like that.

The one exception took her off guard. June had been in her house, microwaving leftovers for herself at 3 in the morning after an 8 to 2 shift. She'd been quiet so as not to wake her son up. The careful silence made the sound outside even more obvious.

There was a heavy thump. Something cracked. It was loud. So very loud.

A _thump_ implied something had dropped.

_Loud_ implied that it had been something heavy.

The human ran for the garage and pressed at the opener outside the house door. The garage door shook to life, noisily lifting up from the ground.

The first foot lifted.

Very large feet were visible beyond it.

The next few feet lifted.

The feet- pedes- were joined by legs.

The door quieted to a stop. June barely felt able to move to the opening and look up at the giants outside.

She wondered if the other attacks on those cities had started like this. Started so...quietly. The four insecticons waiting outside weren't throwing anything or crushing anything or doing anything more destructive than cracking the pavement they'd landed on. Yet.

Jasper just never was able to catch a break, the human thought woozily.

The insecticons finally moved. They gave a sort of half-crouch that put their toothy faces closer to her than before.

The only weapon she could grab to fend them off nearby was a broom. Somehow, she was sure that wouldn't do it.

The closest insecticon opened its maw and she felt mortality potently.

And instead of eating her, the thing spoke.

"Our queen," the insecticon grunted.

June just stared.

It occurred to her that they hadn't crouched to get better access at the house and humans to plaster them. When she blinked and took it in again, she recognized the gesture. She'd seen insecticons doing it when Airachnid would enter the room or summon them to her.

There were far too many questions to ask or threats to issue or even brooms to wave at the oversized extraterrestrial pests sitting on her driveway. She managed an intelligent "what?" to sum all of that complexity up.

The closest insecticon gestured shortly at her. The motion was thankfully constrained, close to its own body rather than getting near her.

"You."

Yes, that didn't explain anything. June wondered if she was dreaming. Or perhaps imagining this all very vividly. She supposed it was time to give a psychiatrist a call after all.

By now, her eyes had adjusted to the streetlamp ambiance outside. The other lights flickering on in other houses only helped her see even better.

When her heart wasn't beating so hard it kept her from thinking or seeing at all, June could get a better look at the monsters so close. There was a purple marking on the nearest insecticon's face. A rather distinct marking.

"Oh." She grabbed at the garage wall again to keep herself standing straight. "I remember you."

Bob. Or, Scalewing, she supposed; that was what Airachnid had called him.

If he was here to kidnap her again, he was doing a piss-poor job at it compared to the last abduction.

If this was Airachnid's revenge, they shouldn't all be out here crouching in front of her.

"Is-is she gone?"

For being rather stupid, they all seemed to know exactly who she was talking about. Scalewing tilted his head to the side after nodding.

If Airachnid had been being honest when she'd said insecticons couldn't function without a leading presence, and if she was really gone (celebrations could wait, but the relief was already seeping in)...

"Queen," he repeated.

Well. June felt lightheaded. In the one last delirious thought she had before she gave in to the need to sit down, June wondered what she was going to tell her coworkers when she showed up at the hospital tomorrow with a few alien giants trailing behind like ducklings.


	71. Talks

_AN- Alternatively titled The Talk. Or at least, the first of hopefully many talks. One is not enough, but it's one more than they've ever managed to try before. These two are getting there._

* * *

Their current posting was inside a scrappy barracks near some Garrus or other. Breakdown had forgotten the number for it, but its dark presence on the horizon was rather intimidating. Motormaster kept threatening to throw one of them to the Garrus for continuously being useless failures. Everyone knew it was a hollow threat- without one of them, there was no Menasor; without Menasor, they had no value- but when he'd grabbed Heatseeker around the head and dragged the gray mech towards the prison camp (grunting all the while about the stuff that went on in there and how not even the cons inside were immune), it had felt real enough. Heatseeker had to start screaming before the boss actually let the 'joke' drop; he'd been laughing through it at first, but eventually the fun turned into edging fear and that morphed into horror. After being dropped, Motormaster had told him to shape up; the gray mech nodded absently on the ground. He wasn't normally the target of the boss's anger. Evidently, he wasn't sure how to accept it. Apparently, he settled for punching Wildrider when the other started kicking dust into his face and they devolved into wrestling from there.

Out of all of them, Wildrider and Heatseeker got along the best.

That really said something for this slagging team.

But there was more than just the view of Garrus-whatever outside. There was a large, open road. He and his brothers took to racing around it often enough. When they tore around at dangerous speeds, it almost felt alright. They shared a genuine enjoyment of the activity. Most of the time, Motormaster never joined them. Maybe that was what let them enjoy it so much.

His latest mods made it harder to join them. He had added bulk to tow around now.

The others had been changing too. Wildrider kept getting mods that made him look like that one small wrecker he had a vendetta against. It was weird. Saying that wasn't really worth it. Sure, it'd get the mech to fight him in the moment, but a few breems later and he'd have forgotten Breakdown said the comment at all. Wildrider couldn't retain reality that way. It was amazing he even managed to retain a lasting vendetta at all. Heatseeker was just bulking outwards. His alt mode was larger than the more streamlined thing it had started as. His frame had always been taller than the other three, but now he was adding width to that size.

Really, Dead End was the only one that wasn't getting bigger. He was the only one that could really race these days. But the mech just drifted slowly to enunciate how much he didn't care about the activity. Or them. Or the one thing they'd had to connect with each other outside Menasor.

The open road was better than the prison. But it was the little enclosure sticking out amidst the rubble that actually shone.

Not quite literally (despite Knock Out's attempt to make the temporary medbay look good on the outside), but it was a whole lot more inviting than the Garrus or the roads or the barracks behind him.

Breakdown slipped inside.

Technically, he wasn't _not_ supposed to be in here. Motormaster had revealed his extreme displeasure at his increasing presence in the medbay, but he'd never said outright to stop the visits. Breakdown still tended to sneak over instead of being obvious about what he was doing.

He didn't see a need to be obvious about a lot of things. His strength- growing with every mod Knock Out gave him? Oh yeah, he wanted it shown. His...anything else? Meh. Not so much. Motormaster wouldn't like anything that didn't strike him as an advantage to their unit.

Knock Out saw everything very differently. That much was clear by what he was saying while he rubbed smooth circles down the blue mech's backplates. Breakdown had his face smooshed up against a recently polished red shoulder. It gleamed even at such a close distance; its thick coating was even more obvious in texture with their proximity. Stunning. Absolutely stunning. Knock Out always was. Motormaster and the others couldn't see it, but that was their loss.

The weird thing was how Knock Out acted as though it was true vice versa too.

Like now. Like now when he was muttering things that made his ego feel tempted to grow as big as the mech saying the compliments. Even if it didn't, he'd still hear the words. They made him feel wanted in a way the Stunticons never would.

"You're a very special mech," the medic said. "Someday, we'll show that to the world."

Why would he care about the world? It was good enough just to hear this stunning mech say it. It was enough to feel wanted by someone so perfect.

"I don't care about the world," Breakdown mumbled into the medic's shoulder. "_You_ think it; that's enough for me."

Motormaster could swallow slag before he ever admitted to needing the blue mech on the team; it didn't matter to him anymore. One mech was enough. He would build his whole life around one mech if the Stunticons weren't in the way. It was the least he could do for the mech who said he was special when all his boss said about him were insults.

"Oh, but Breakdown-" the medic purred, drawing him in closer still. "A single person knowing is the first step. From there, it's only real if the world can see it."

Breakdown wasn't sure about that.

But if Knock Out said that's how it worked, he believed him. Knock Out understood how life functioned in a way he never could.

* * *

They snuck out during Magnus's dressing down.

Was that against regulations? Some of them, yes. Was that something that would make Magnus blow his top even more? Yes.

But thus were the perks of standing in the back of the crowd: it was easy to stealth away.

Besides, judging by how Optimus could be heard scraping (he still needed that leg fixed) over to the others and speaking, chances were that Magnus was about to be told to lay off anyway.

Knock Out loved that mech. No offense to the lieutenant, but Optimus was the Prime for a reason.

Right now, they had more important things to deal with. The duo slipped into an adjacent room. There was a pile of rubble knocked onto the floor from one of the thick walls. It wasn't enough to break through to the other room, but it did provide an impromptu seating arrangement. Knock Out took an unhappy look at one dulled point and chose it. Once he was seated, his partner slumped down as well.

"I spoke with Optimus recently," he started.

There was no interruption. Alright.

"There are some things I've been keeping secret," the medic continued. "He recommended I tell you about them. So I don't frag up again."

Breakdown's mouth opened but it was a moment before he spoke.

"What are you talking about?"

Right, right. He had to be clear. To be clear, he needed to provide some context (whilst fending the instinctual excuses off).

He would open up about it all. He would.

If only he knew where to begin.

"It's." Knock Out laughed. "It's harder to bring this up than I thought it would be. I'm really not used to talking with you."

Just at you.

That was probably something he needed to say out loud if he wanted to be clear. So he did.

"Talk at me?" Breakdown sounded confused.

"Erm. Yes. That's the best way I can put it." The medic slumped down a bit on his rock. "You know, I think I'd have an easier time admitting that to anyone else except you. I have admitted it to others, in fact. Just never to you."

Arcee and Optimus, mainly, but the Ratchet and Bumblebee of his old time had heard quite a bit too.

"I think it's just so easy to exist like we do. It's a whole lot harder for me to try to break our little fantasy of perfection."

There. He'd said it.

He'd just up and called their dynamic a fantasy. A fake.

That's what he'd come to this time to do. To say they were existing in a lie that he'd fabricated and that Breakdown needed to break out of it.

He'd done just a bang up job with that.

"It's not a lie," the blue mech frowned. "Some of it is, I've only just been realizing, but...not all of it."

No. There was genuine affection here. Or whatever Knock Out's equivalent was.

"All I know is if it isn't broke it doesn't need to be fixed. You decided we needed to be fixed. Can you finally tell me what was broke?"

Yes, he would. That's what he was here to do.

It just always got so hard when he was looking into Breakdown's face to say anything about it.

It was so much easier to just fit into old roles and not feel a need to keep track of his possessiveness.

It meant admitting to faults.

And he'd never done that for this mech before.

He'd never shattered his presentation of perfection amidst the partnership. Any faults of theirs were _theirs_ and not _his_ because he didn't have any. Not in the presented and accepted image, at least. It had always been more comfortable to shrug faults off to an outside source. He was rather selfish that way.

"I...do you really want to hear it? You may not want to." Knock Out could hear his own voice losing its nerve.

Maybe now was when he needed an emotional-support-Arcee rather than the other cycle with the Prime.

"Please," Breakdown said and the word sounded so foreign coming from him.

It sounded like the mech who'd come into his medbay hesitantly; all cute and worried his teammates would see him sneaking over, all loud and brash confidence when the high grade hit. It wasn't obnoxious bluster. Actually, Knock Out found the confidence matched the blue mech just as much as it would match some big heavy hitter-

Which was what the two of them gradually morphed Breakdown into. The modified frame matched the easy personality that high grade and battle brought out of the other.

That mech didn't say things like 'please'. 'Thank you', yes; many times to him.

Knock Out had created the mech in front of him through his own mind. He had made a perfect assistant. And he had done it mostly in his own head because he'd heard Breakdown saying things to June Darby that would never have fit his image for him.

Saying what he'd been asked meant exposing that about himself-

Meant admitting to possessiveness and the blindness that would always run the risk of making his own mind see someone in front of him that did not really exist-

"Just don't...hold it against me too much or anything," he muttered before brightening up to confidence. "Alright. It all started when you died."

And somehow-

Somehow, despite the fact that he felt like he was telling Breakdown those things that would scare his familiar presence off-

Somehow, the story was a bit easier to tell when it wasn't the Prime himself he was telling it to. That was the reason he'd tell himself for now. The alternative could wait until after he'd seen Breakdown's reaction.

* * *

The walk back to the _Nemesis_ was absolute misery. Airachnid assumed she knew what torture was, but obviously she'd never been half carried by Dreadwing anywhere.

Starscream detested it.

He detested not being able to fly.

He detested Knock Out and Airachnid and the two-wheeler and everyone back there who'd done this to him.

He especially, at the moment, detested the idiot 2IC of the decepticons walking (walking, pah- that was disgusting on its own) him back to repairs.

Of course, he had always disliked this mech and his idiot brother. They were practically clones. Both were blind fools who went on and on about honor and scrap and never bothered to learn what, exactly, a proper military entailed.

Although Dreadwing had gotten stuffy about rank lately. He'd also seemed to get his first lesson in what being a high ranking member of this military entailed; that little dent on his face had gotten removed rather quickly though. Did he not want the evidence that Megatron could and did strike him? It did serve to break his little illusion he and his foolish twin had clung to about the _wonderfulness_ of their _one true master._

Starscream thought about how Megatron had found him on the _Harbinger_.

How he had been asked back to his side.

Maybe there was something relatable about Dreadwing's confliction. Starscream decided not to go down that trail of thought.

So he complained quite loudly instead.

After a slight break in his tirade, the other seeker found the opening to interrupt and discuss his many life threatening wounds.

Most of which weren't life threatening. But he rather preferred to act otherwise.

"XL-2M99 will repair your damages," the commander was saying. "The injury in your wing looks primarily concerning."

He hated the patronizing.

"Keep your pet drone away," Starscream replied. "I don't want it pawing all over me."

And he most definitely did not want to be patronized.

Dreadwing growled lowly.

Well wasn't he protective. And showing off a weakness far too easily.

He should know better than to think he could befriend the Nemesis's medic. The last seeker to have done that found it ended rather unpleasantly.

They finally reached the warship. It took Soundwave finishing whatever cryptic thing Dreadwing kept implying the TIC was doing for them to do it, but they finally did. Once the communications officer had returned to the _Nemesis_, he'd opened a bridge for them both.

About time. Starscream had no desire to keep walking.

The quality of the medical care he received next was subpar. The autobot medic did a better job than their last traitorous medic and that medic did a better job than some vehicon. And the way Dreadwing stood a few meters away glaring at him throughout the procedure made it even more unpleasant. It wasn't like he was going to disembowel their one competent medical aide right here if the blue seeker glanced away so there was no need for _that_.

Starscream rather preferred internally berating the fool to acknowledging the grudging gratitude that may or may not have been trying to form.

He didn't believe in altruism. Whatever reasons the autobots, with their transforming capabilities still intact, had chosen to run in rootmode with him rather than driving away from Airachnid's game back there, they hadn't been altruistic reasons. The same went for Dreadwing's uncomfortable way of corralling him back.

Any further reminiscences on the manner were interrupted by a very familiar sound.

Pedefall. Very specific pedefall.

The warlord appeared in the doorway and Starscream could feel his vents hitch. Stupid, stupid-

The vehicon still working on his wing stiffened up. He continued his work, but it was utterly stilted with Megatron looming behind him.

Starscream refused to acknowledge how familiar that was as well.

Dreadwing had gone still. "Lord Megatron," he greeted.

There was an edge of neutrality there that seemed new. Starscream filed that away. It was good news. It could mean there was a way to poison Megatron's opinion of the current 2IC until he tossed the fool away and reached back for a competent military leader.

The warlord ignored the blue flyer.

"Starscream," he greeted. The seeker pushed himself more upright at that; it displaced XL-2M99's servos on his wing, but that hardly mattered.

"My lord?" Starscream replied with a question. He was rather confused.

He wondered if he was about to be told he'd failed and shown weakness by allowing Airachnid to take him.

He wondered if he was about to hear gratitude for his continued survival be expressed.

Megatron did neither. His expression was flat. Disinterested. Busy, perhaps; preoccupied. No doubt.

Starscream hated him.

"The autobots continue to be an interference to the hunt for predacon remains," Megatron said. "So long as Optimus wields his star saber, our single beast cannot truly fend them off while searching for bones- let alone take the fight to them. We require Shockwave's preliminary army to be finished and that, according to him, will require a few more samples."

In other words, get to work? Why was he saying that in person though?

"Because of their continuous interference, Shockwave and I-"

Oh lovely. Now there was more than just Dreadwing cozying up to the warlord.

"-have decided to send it discreetly to Earth to retrieve samples from the dead predacons left on that world. You will be sent with it to keep it to task."

Sent-

to Earth-

Just him. Just him and that monster.

"You move out in two breems," Megatron waved dismissively as he began to walk away. "Be ready."

His back disappeared into the outer hall while Starscream was left to stew in his remaining injuries and how little time he had to fix them.

* * *

Breakdown listened to it all.

The whole story. Or not the _story_, that didn't really do it any justice. The whole _truth_.

He questioned many parts of it despite himself. Some things just really needed to be said twice before he could even try to picture them.

Over all, he'd spent far too long talking with Knock Out about the increasingly weird descriptions the medic had for Uni-...Unitron? Megacron? Whatever. The point was, he was easily distracted and Knock Out was more lively talking about the details of his story than he was talking about his motivations for telling it.

"Well-" was all Breakdown could immediately say upon the retelling coming to an end. "That's pretty relieving, really. It explains a lot."

At Knock Out's expression, he elaborated: "When you first had us defect, it was completely unpredictable for me. So much about you was. I felt like you'd been keeping all sorts of secrets from me 'cause how else could you start acting so weird without warning?"

The other gave a wry smile. "I guess I was keeping all sorts of secrets though."

Yeah. Yeah, he really had been. But Breakdown didn't feel mad about it.

Part of him really wanted to fawn all over the red mech for doing so much for him. He'd gone back in time for Breakdown. That deserved more than life-long loyalty.

As much as that part of him wanted to do that, he tried to keep himself objective here. Going straight to worship wasn't what they did anymore. Things had changed. And they'd had damn good reasons to. At least from Knock Out's perspective.

And from a whole lot of his these days too.

Now, Knock Out was as finished as he could be with everything.

Which meant now it was his turn.

It couldn't just be brutal honesty on one of their parts. They both had to share.

"It threw me off a lot," he started. "The defection. I didn't know there was all this experience leading into it. So for me, it just about crashed my world."

That was messy. That made no sense once outside his head. Breakdown tried to try again.

"I mean, after the Stunticons, I made you the center of my life. When you started to tug away to join the bots, I wasn't sure what to do at all. My framework was gone. I didn't know what to expect or enjoy or do."

And it had been like that for a while. He didn't really know at what point things changed. Maybe they'd started to shift at the arctic, when he'd been working with the Prime. That cycle left him uncomfortable; he couldn't tell why Knock Out loved that guy more than Megatron, and at the same time he found it uncanny just how much Optimus _listened_. It wasn't right for a commander to do that. None of his others had.

So maybe it started there. Maybe it started later, when he'd helped Knock Out and Bulkhead back through the groundbridge from the tropics.

Whatever it was, it was solid enough to work forward from by the time Bumblebee talked with him about their mutual scars and he found it in him to joke with Bulkhead. After that, the rest of the team stopped being so disgusting.

They'd gone from being _that team_ to _the team._

"Then I got you back as my center and the new structure of the world didn't fit around that presence anymore."

Knock Out startled up, looking hurt. It made him hurt to see and that all would've fed itself and escalated further.

"Wait-" he lifted a servo consolingly. "I don't mean _you_. I always had you. That's what I didn't get at first. I still had you when you were busy spending time with the autobots. I still had you when you were being weird and making us share floor time in that room."

The startled expression drifted away, but never truly left. It was just covered by other expressions.

"But I kept pushing you to let us go back to where we used to be and after that hunt for the omega key-"

"-I brought it back." Knock Out finished for him. The medic sighed. "I wanted to get talked about, get focused on; I think I pushed myself too hard trying to be this perfect listener and you acted so unhappy about it that it felt like I was just being backwards about everything. So I tried to go back to what we used to be and never realized you weren't happy about that either."

It was uncomfortable to hear.

It was always uncomfortable to hear Knock Out say he'd done something wrong.

Maybe if it happened more commonly rather than... _never_, it would lose that discomfortability.

"I wasn't that unhappy-"

The medic gave him an unimpressed glare. "I'm not that dense; I heard you talking with nurse Darby."

Somehow, that made him even more unsure of what to say.

"Okay," he looked down at his servos and frowned. "So I was a bit unhappy. I started thinking about the Stunticons a lot. I started wondering what you'd seen that I didn't that made you want to change us. And I was really, really unhappy with the idea of following the other's advice and trying to find myself away from your choices because I was sure it would make you unhappy."

They were quiet a moment. Breakdown kept fiddling with his servos. The medic started frowning at his own dirty claws.

"I guess that's how we always operated," Knock Out was the first to speak up again. "You must've kept a lot in to keep from upsetting me."

He had. There was still so much closure he'd never found about things that upset him that he kept buried away because they weren't important to/ would distress his partner.

"I guess I shouldn't do that any more," Breakdown said.

Knock Out looked up from his claws and smiled at him.

"Yeah," he replied. "I guess we both shouldn't."

He shifted forward on his piece of rubble. Breakdown did the same so that they'd gotten near enough to graze the back of their servos together.

"So?" the red mech kept his smile. "Since you don't hate me and I really will be trying harder to be better-"

The silver servo flipped so that the palm was up in offering.

"-want to try again?"

Breakdown took it without hesitation.


	72. Incidents on Earth

Starscream and Predaking arrive on Earth. The wreckers get their first official mission together. Ratchet and Fowler compete for having the worst headaches.

_AN- Hey! To those readers and reviewers, I wanted to give a quick update about uploads. This fic is finished over on AO3, clocking in at 107 chapters. It'll be 107 here as well. I've got a lot more readers over there and so it takes me longer to come over to this website to upload. But I will be uploading over here more regularly. If you_ have_ reviewed over here, thank you. I'm more vocal and communicative with my readers on the platforms that allow threaded replies, but I want you to know that I really appreciate all those reviews you drop here._

* * *

Now, onto the show.

Shitstorms, to borrow the human expression, often liked to wait a few cycles before striking.

By waiting, they were able to stack up in relative peace; then, when they'd stacked up enough to truly be horrible, they all came down at once.

This was why Ratchet did not trust peace and quiet.

All things considered, not much time had passed since the last set of incidents. That didn't stop the first red alert from being joined by a second one soon after.

First was June Darby.

Sometime during the dark cycle, insecticon signals lit up outside Jasper. Ratchet left his current experiment with synthetic energon running while he tripped out into the empty main room. No one was around to hear him grumble at the equipment responsible for tripping him. There was no Bulkhead to blame for the medic's own mess and no one was around to react to his grouchy reaction.

The base was too empty. It was wearing on him. Ratchet shoved the thought away and finished moving for the monitor where he caught sight of the insecticon signals.

He contacted agent Fowler quickly. Despite his own continued lack of faith in human technology, Fowler's response team was the only one left on Earth to deal with these attacks.

The cybertronian team had been rushed back to Cybertron through much pushing on his own part. The cynical side of him felt sure that he wouldn't regret that choice had the insecticons been hitting anywhere but Jasper.

All four signals remained stationary upon arrival. They'd settled in a suburb, right outside...right outside where Arcee formally was posted on most Earth nights.

The commline he held open with the agent (who was speeding with the local unit in their outfitted helicopters towards Jasper) was interrupted when Fowler called the Darby household to warn them away; the new contact entered the shared line and June Darby's voice started snapping at them both. The four insecticon signals never moved throughout this all.

By the time that incident was over, Ratchet was quite done with mitigating team affairs. He'd tried to side with Fowler and convinced the nurse to get away while human military shot down the targets, but June had been very insistent they not shoot the insecticons down.

After what he'd done to the tox-en Airachnid had wanted, Ratchet felt he owed her too much to continue arguing the point. He had still insisted all involved parties be bridged away from the city so that he could get a good, detailed, clear explanation of what in the Allspark was going on.

It had somehow involved all four insecticons crowding into the base (where they could do so much damage to valuable equipment, he silently raged) behind June because they refused to do anything else after she'd been bridged over for safety. Jack came too and somehow that meant an automatic invitation to the other two (one of which rubbed at sleepy eyes and the other had far too much energy for Ratchet's non-existent patience at the moment); the three kids and Fowler had a lot to say and they did say it. Ratchet felt like a spectator in his own base.

By the time that first 'shitstorm' had finished and he'd been left alone again (not actually; Miko had, as became evident a few breems later when she'd shown up on the catwalk, not in fact gone home when he'd opened that bridge for her), the medic was starting to wonder why he'd gotten so melancholy about being left alone to start with. The peace and quiet and empty loneliness had been productive!

Excuses hardly mattered, because of course that was when the second wave of scrap began.

He'd returned to working over the formula- an annoying task as it was, since nothing he'd done seemed to stabilize it for use in a cybertronian- when the monitor started issuing alerts once more. Ratchet had muttered a few curses up at the ceiling and then gone to see what it was.

A massive energy flux. Obviously a spacebridge.

At first, he'd expected it to just be the _Nemesis_ returning to orbit away from the range of Optimus's powerful weapon. But the warship had carefully masked signatures. If it had just been the ship returning, Ratchet would not have been able to pick up a single signal.

In contrast to that theory, a decepticon signal was tearing down towards Earth.

Another energy frequency was near it. Not a decepticon signal or really any sort of signal he'd ever picked up before. It was wildly fluctuating in a way more similar to Megatron or perhaps Optimus than any of the others; yet more wildly, more fully, than either of them.

It was huge.

Ratchet had a suspicion he knew what it was. The medic leaned over the comm to contact Cybertron.

"Optimus? I think we have a situation."

* * *

He transformed out of his dive straight to his pedes. The dramatic regality of it was undercut by how his heels slid deep in Earth mud.

"Ah, yes-" Starscream sneered, lifting one pede out of the filth and trying to shake it clean. It was a futile move. "Earth. Or the Pit. Who can tell the difference."

It wasn't an actual question. The predacon that slipped down to the ground much less gracefully tilted its head at him like it was waiting for an answer.

His sneer moved to it. "Not that I would expect you to understand."

It blinked at him.

Ugh. Never mind that. Starscream stomped his way out of the bog they'd landed in. The arm holding the Apex Armor tightened its hold around the relic every time the predacon's shadow reached him. He started stomping faster. The shadow sped up to keep him near. He increased his pace again. The shadow started to trot. He couldn't escape the feeling that a predator was chasing him- just waiting to get close enough to dig its fangs right into him-

With an embarrassing "_eep_", the seeker broke into a true run.

That just seemed to encourage the monster behind him to sprint as well. Its weight made the slush his heels sloshed through reverberate. Starscream managed to pull the relic to his chest around the same time as the beast stopped teasing. Its claws tripped him and the seeker fell towards the disgusting organic mud; the armor building around him quickly saved him from having to get the filth all over himself.

A dangerous mouth caught the foot of the armor and flipped him over.

Indestructible relic or not, Starscream did not appreciate seeing the predacon puff heat towards the window separating his face from the mouth of the creature.

Frag

You

Shockwave

"Get off me!" he screeched. The predacon huffed another little breath of combustible air at him before stepping backwards. Its legs scrunched close while its body constricted, tail flicking behind it.

Starscream was on his pedes as quickly as such bulky armor let him be.

"I am your commanding officer!" he jabbed an unhappy finger at the creature.

All of which was practically useless to say since it couldn't understand him anyways.

Even if it would tilt its head or blink or puff threateningly.

Hm. Starscream lifted his other servo to point insistently.

"Go first."

The predacon strolled forward. That tail almost hit him while it passed. The seeker almost thought it was intentional.

It paused and looked behind at him after he'd stood there a moment. He supposed he did have to follow. So long as he was stuck on this scrap heap, he had to watch this thing's every move. Well, he would do it all from inside the comfort of the Apex Armor. As long as they weren't in flight, he planned to be protected at all times.

They trudged through the disgusting Earth slag for a breem before Megatron contacted.

_«You are planetside?»_ the warlord asked. Starscream stopped to speak; the predacon paused as well, looking at him with narrowed yellow slits.

"Yes," he answered. There was more to the answer as well, but Megatron spoke over it all before it had begun.

_«Excellent. Direct the predacon to find remains. Three or four may be sufficient. Contact the ship when you have reached that amount and Shockwave will decide if the job has been done adequately.»_

The comm cut before anything else could be said. Starscream stood there- pede deep in organic sludge and cramped inside bulky armor. After a moment of silence, he threw his servos down in irritation.

"Contact the ship-" the seeker mimicked. "Shockwave will decide if you've done things adequately."

The (rather accurate, in his view) mockery cut off when he kicked at the dirt below.

"What? Am I just good for digging through Earth filth now so that Shockwave can make more of his mindless animals?"

They set off again, but this time it wasn't in silence.

Brainless audience or not, Starscream had ranting to do; he'd lost the one mech on the _Nemesis_ who used to listen to those episodes once that mech had decided to run off to the autobots and the tirade had been pent up since he'd first been dragged by Megatron straight back to this idiotic mess.

* * *

Far away from the dormant body of Unicron, the autobots on Cybertron found themselves rather busy.

There was a medical operation to be done on the Prime's predacon-given injury, after all. There were decepticon squads to hit. Plans to make. An amoral scientist's secret lab to be found.

When Ratchet's call came in, there were no easy options to make. Someone had to be sent to Earth to take care of the predacon and decepticon that had landed there. But not the whole team.

The scouts were busy. Knock Out and Breakdown were similarly preoccupied (they were the ones who planned on dealing with Optimus's ignored injury, after all).

So the Prime had turned to a commander he trusted and asked him to lead his small unit to Earth.

Ultra Magnus was left wondering what it was about this planet that had managed to drag him away from his Prime's side twice recently.

He also wondered how poorly the mission would go with the soldiers he had been given.

But he spent little time wondering that. It was not important. His wreckers would act according to protocol. Too much was at stake for them not to.

He could only hope they'd see it that way as well.

And that neither would attempt to bring the infamous 'wrecker-style' along with them on this mission.

It needed to be done quickly, not done suicidally.

* * *

"You bringing more bots back?"

Ratchet let his engine rumble.

"Yes," he answered shortly. Maybe keeping things uninteresting would keep Miko from staying around.

As always, it did not.

The teen had stuck around ever since the incident in Jasper earlier. Now, the whole city was on high alert. Fowler was running all sorts of interference with the mayor and overall probably getting an even larger headache than Ratchet had.

So much for robots in disguise. The moment the first human city had been attacked, Optimus's old policy became moot. So had all of Fowler's earlier attempts to keep them hidden from humanity.

Humanity knew.

What the spawn of Unicron would do with that knowledge remained to be seen.

Miko obviously didn't care to wait around baited breath and learn about the ever changing human world around her. She'd just lain on the couch up in the kid's old haunt; just playing the tv and messing around with her horrible 'instrument'. Ratchet wasn't entirely sure what she'd been up to the entire time actually. All he knew was that she was still here.

"Which bots?" the teen asked. She was currently busy tossing the television remote up and catching it when it fell down to where she was lounging. "Is Bulk coming?"

The medic let his engine make the faux sighing sound again.

"If you must know-" Ratchet answered while he readied the space bridge. It was busy work, trying to balance complicated coordinate input and a human child. "-yes. He and Wheeljack both."

Miko shot upright.

"Really?" she brightened. "Jackie's coming too?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered.

The coordinate input finished, he moved on to checking the integrity of the synth-en currently sitting inside the bridge fuel tank.

"Sweet-" Miko pumped a fist. "Hey, is Doc Knock coming again?"

The fuel looked good. He was set to go. And the distraction around him hadn't even forced him to mess up anywhere.

"No."

That time, the short answer did seem to stop the inflow of curiosity. Good. Ratchet let himself concentrate on getting the bridge open and bringing the wrecker unit through.

He exchanged short words with Ultra Magnus. No matter how busy Fowler was juggling human relations with his superiors, the liaison still was their best source of direction.

That direction sent them to a european region.

It also sent the commander to Ratchet with a hesitant: "What is a kilt?"

The medic mentally congratulated Fowler for managing to throw off the legendary Ultra Magnus but admittingly was just as confused. He offered a noncommittal shrug and moved quickly to prepare the bridge.

"Do not drain resources," the commander cut his plan off. "The _Iron Will_ is still outside of this settlement. We will take it."

That meant they'd be slower. It also meant less synth-en used while Ratchet was still working on the formula.

He grudgingly accepted it and moved to tune out all the other noise that had been carrying on ever since the unit had first arrived here.

Maybe if he hadn't tried to shut off that inflow of questions (and anything related to his human guest at all), he wouldn't have missed the exact moment Miko managed to convince Wheeljack for a ride along with the team.

* * *

The flyer would not stop talking.

The influx of information was useful. It showed the character of this being. It showed more about those beings left behind on that warship. The _Nemesis_. The ship had a name. It had found that name while reading through the databases it had accessed on the flight deck terminal.

It wished it had a name.

But it had not found the clear memories to unveil one.

The _Nemesis_ had two names. A second was also recorded. Recorded as offline. The frame itself was still used, but the being was dead.

It thought of the golden warrior. The king that it remembered had a name and presence and was no more alive now than that dead warship was.

The flyer did not seem to realize it understood his words. The predacon was irritated from it. The mech had buried himself in untouchable armor and droned on and on in a manner betraying how he felt his words were not truly understood.

But its irritation could be ignored. This information was more important.

Stories about the leader of the decepticons. It had read about the decepticons. It thought it liked them. It understood what the database said they stood for.

It was not a decepticon though. It never would be. It would be their ally. It would work underneath their strong leader, but it would hold agency of its own. That seemed natural. It seemed right.

The stories the seeker told did not fit the database of knowledge. Perhaps one was wrong. Perhaps both told only half truths. That made things more tricky. It would have to be critical.

It would find the truth.

It would find itself.

And it would cut off this incessant racket before it drove it to madness.


	73. Identity Crisis

There had been two calls in short succession.

First had been the host parents. They were frantically wondering where she was at. Evidently, the panic spreading through Jasper that they would 'be the next Queen Creek' had reached them. Miko told them she was out at a friend's place outside of the town and cut the conversation short.

She knew she should be nicer to them. They'd lost so much of their original excitement over hosting her. It kinda sucked that she was the one who'd stomped that excitement out. Really, it was kind of surprising she hadn't been kicked back to Japan. Sure, she knew that was probably against policies and regs and whatnot, but it wasn't like she actually knew. What? Was she the type to ever actually read those contracts she'd signed? Her parents in Tokyo had done that for her.

They were her next call.

Miko found it harder to answer that one and even harder to hang up.

_Was she alright?_

Yeah. Just fine. Loving life. Why'd they ask?

_Had the aliens gotten near her? They'd fried a city in Arizona; wasn't that close to Nevada?_

By cybertronian standards, yeah. These days, Miko thought of most things in terms of cybertronian standards. She couldn't say that to her parents though.

_The breaking news said something about an invasion in Nevada. Jasper?_

She said it was bogus. Jasper was fine.

In a day, they'd be able to figure out that she'd been lying. Or partially lying. Jasper really was fine. But the aliens had reached it.

_They had to make sure she was safe. Was she safe? They would bring her home as soon as possible._

Miko felt like she could taste ash at the word 'home'.

They meant Japan. Japan was full of humans. Her house was occupied by humans. They were uptight and funny and pretty well off, but they knew nothing about aliens or a galactic spanning civil war or killing.

No one laughing or frowning on those streets could look her in the eye and say they'd racked up any sort of kill count. No one in Tokyo that she knew could.

So Tokyo couldn't be home. She couldn't live in a place that had no idea what her life now was.

She said no. She wasn't going back. They fought. Her mother got frantically angry.

_They wanted their little girl back. Sure, a year overseas had sounded alright before, but it was too dangerous._

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to tell them that she'd run around battlefields before, seen sparks ripped out, hit the trigger for explosives that wiped out a good chunk of alien bug people. The little thing happening in Jasper was nothing.

And she knew she could never tell them.

_It wasn't up for questioning._

Miko said it was.

_They loved her._

She loved them too.

But she didn't belong there. Right now, she only belonged with humans that were in on the secret.

And with the bots. Some special bots in particular.

She missed Bulkhead so bad.

_They would organize a flight._

She wouldn't be on it.

Miko snuck back through the hall from the empty training room after the call was complete. She'd headed down there after sneaking back through the bridge that was supposed to have sent her to her host parents place. It was best to let Ratchet spend some time getting busy with whatever boring project he wanted to work on before showing up. Too soon and he insisted on sending her back. After he'd gotten preoccupied? He'd complain about her presence, but he wouldn't bother tearing away from his work.

As predicted, Ratchet didn't send her back when she'd made her presence known by climbing up the catwalk.

She stayed up there for hours. The TV ran on. No more phone calls came. She wished Raf and Jack were here too.

But at least the bots were coming by. Specifically, Bulkhead and Jackie were coming. She'd been really down that they hadn't come last time.

When the bridge opened and admitted the temporary team, Miko ran to the catwalk and leaned forward in excitement.

Phone calls from family were uncomfortable. She couldn't deal with them right now. She had no idea how to deal with them. All she wanted was to stay here at the base with her friends. Forever? That was a bit incomprehensible. Miko just knew she wanted to stay now. She didn't really think about the future much.

Three cybertronians came out from the green. There was shoulder-pads in the front, looking as grumpy as he had every other time Miko had seen him around the base. Bulkhead was next to him, looking up at his face and saying something she couldn't hear over the noise of the spacebridge. Wheeljack was glaring at the green wrecker's attempts to speak with the big guy; or did for a moment before he turned around in the other direction to scoff.

Miko smelled Drama.

Which was interesting enough, but she could tell there was action coming as well. That was far better.

Action was what got her into this mess. Action was what made her confused over how to deal with her birth life and all these human related things that eventually she may have to go back to.

Screw this. Laying around on a couch thinking about her parent's phone call wasn't getting anywhere.

Action sounded like the perfect distraction and way to fit into her chosen life. Her decision was made.

Miko slipped down the catwalk and moved for Wheeljack.

"Yo-"

He glanced over to where she'd planted herself nearby.

"Can I come with?"

Wheeljack, thankfully, was rather like her: he didn't overthink things.

* * *

They were not alone.

The predacon paused and reached out for those fields barely noticeable on this planet. There were others here. They had the fields of those mechs on the _Nemesis_. Cybertronians, then. But no other decepticons had been sent with them.

Autobots.

It growled. The noise seemed to cut the seeker off mid-comment.

"What." Starscream was frowning behind the blue visor of his armor. He seemed offended at having his current inflow of complaints interrupted.

It tossed its head. There was not much else it could do. It had no way to speak.

If it had, it would've told the seeker to stop talking long before.

"There's nothing there, you stupid creature."

The predacon could sense autobots from many, many clicks away. The seeker thought there was nothing there.

So which of them was the stupid one?

It shuttered its optics and attempted to think. To find a way to explain the presence of enemies. By the time it reached the idea of drawing pictures in the organic soil beneath them, the predacon decided against communication.

The distance was inconsequential when flying. The nearest bone was only a short flight away. It spread its wings and beat once, twice, into the air.

There was something nostalgic about the movement. On the edge of this world, the star was falling. Its light had tinted golden- it washed over the wetlands, the distant alien city, over it.

And for one moment, it felt that that light had washed over _him_: over the golden warrior, somehow suspended in the air where it was.

The predacon pawed at its head when the moment ended. It didn't want it gone!

_Come back-_ it pleaded. _Come back. What are you? What do you mean to me?_

Its internal pleading was no more communicated or answered than its muteness towards the allied cybertronians was.

* * *

When he finally got to the injury, Knock Out barely kept back from saying _about damn time._ The Prime didn't seem like the sort of person that would appreciate that.

He and Breakdown got to work briskly. The injury itself wasn't exactly critical, so Breakdown ended up just sitting on the side handing tools over and taking them back. When the alert signalling decepticon activity nearby went off, the nurse stood up.

"I can go," he volunteered. "There's only one other guy free right now, isn't there?"

Since the medic really did have this, the suggestion was accepted.

Knock Out's first response was to be insulted that Breakdown had neither asked him first or considered their job here with this wound.

The second was to wrap his head around the fact that Breakdown had volunteered to run a mission with Smokescreen.

And that response was happy with this development. Not just because he'd been hoping his partner would integrate with his chosen team, but also- also because- there weren't many ways to explain it to himself.

The medic continued looking over the newly patched joint. The Prime was the one to break the silence of work.

"I want your opinion," Optimus said from above him.

Knock Out froze a moment before he managed to continue repairs.

"Oh?" he replied casually. "What about?"

The joint was scraped free of grime one last time and then the medic was lifting and lowering the leg. Optimus didn't seem deterred from speaking while this occurred.

"The predacon."

Ah.

"You said that it- that he- is sentient?"

A brute, through and through, but brutes could still qualify as sentient.

"By his own claims, yes," the medic said.

The joint wasn't operating smoothly enough. One of the patched cracks was clashing with nearby plating. He unscrewed it.

"...I see."

Well, Knock Out didn't yet.

"Honestly, he's just as much of a pain when he's acting civilized as he is right now," he started up. "But the Bumblebee from my time said that he could've been an ally if both sides hadn't blown up the lab where the rest of his predacons were _growing_. He held quite a grudge for that."

Personally, he was glad that lab had been destroyed. For one, the explosion had shown Shockwave what happened when synthetic energon was mixed with cybermatter and that was rather critically important for them all. For another, one (and later three...and then one again, thanks to darling Starscream) predacon was threatening enough. In bipedal mode, that mech was bigger than Megatron. He could probably snap Megatron apart, in fact.

Knock Out was far, far more fragile than Megatron.

The autobot code said reason two was not enough to condone mass murder. So Knock Out begrudgingly gave that point up. At least he could still argue for the benefit outweighing the cost- the synth-en/cybermatter discovery allowed for thousands of new sparks to...

Wait.

Wait a minute.

"Oh." Knock Out sat back on his heels. "Oh," he repeated.

After Optimus had spent a moment waiting, he finished his thought.

"I think I know why Predaking is on Earth. And I know why Shockwave's disappeared again."

And he had a note to write to a certain scientist.

Because in this universe there would be no catalyst for that vital discovery without a little push.

* * *

The human agent had directed them towards where human sightings put the two enemies. Ratchet's scan provided far better specifics as to where the location of this predacon was. Or was heading, in this case. Its signal moved while the _Iron Will_ flew over land and sea.

Those behind his seat exchanged the occasional whisper. It was not ideal. Soldiers did not whisper. If there was need for quiet, comms were used. If it was meant to hide words from him...that was not protocol.

Not that either behind him were up to protocol. He'd expected that from Wheeljack, but Bulkhead had seemed so much more promising from his profile and relatively (compared to the bulk of the wreckers) clean record. Then he had run away with two of the others on a rescue mission that had not yet been authorized and Ultra Magnus was left to conclude he was just as likely to rebel as Wheeljack was.

That wrecker stayed mostly quiet on the flight.

Normally, Ultra Magnus would prefer the quiet. Here, it felt tense. Everything involving Wheeljack did. Working with him again was...also not ideal. But Optimus had asked him to. He would manage.

It had been multiple millennia since they'd worked together before. Perhaps the deserter had matured. Ultra Magnus realized he hoped that was the case; but he felt far from expectant. Prior experience and overall rigidity in views left him certain that the wrecker would be disappointing him soon enough.

There wasn't much time spent before that was proven. The _Iron Will_ docked down on a bluff without cover. Any further away and they were giving far too much escape space to the two enemy signals emanating from a lowered elevation. Wheeljack shot out of the ship before waiting. That was the least of his problems.

It was disappointing enough to see the soldier run out of the ship without authorization.

When he opened his chest cavity to reveal a human...

Ultra Magnus really had expected better.

"Forgot you were in there, kid," the wrecker grinned as he set the human down on a rock.

Because of course he would. He was irresponsible. He did not think. Without that, all was always forgotten.

Frustrated- angry, truly, if he were to allow himself to lose composure that far- at Wheeljack, the commander raised his voice and asked: "And what could've possibly compelled you to bring the native?"

That was truly the loudest he would bring himself to go. Any further decibels would be against protocol. Not official protocol, but he had long ago determined that meeting the wrecker's insolence with obvious anger only fed into their insubordination.

Wheeljack's mouth parted a moment before he found a suitable excuse. "Prime told you to lead the wreckers on this one," the wrecker shrugged, glancing down at the native standing on the rock to smile lazily. "I assumed he meant all of them."

His jaw clenched. "Are you mocking your commanding officer?"

It would not be the first time this particular soldier did so.

Wheeljack frowned. "Wouldn' think of it commander. The kid's a full blown wrecker."

Hardly. While the wrecker exchanged words with a hesitant Bulkhead, Ultra Magnus allowed himself to evaluate this human. It was even smaller looking than that first one he had seen on this planet. Even more frail.

And, just like the human agent, somehow had very cybertronian expressions. Right now, this 'kid' was beaming up at him. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Look," Wheeljack faced him again. "-she may be small, but she saved all our tailpipes recently. Snuffed half an army of insecticons, all on her own."

The human continued to beam, this time up at its-at her vocal support.

Ultra Magnus narrowed his optics. "Outside standard protocol, no doubt," he replied. It was only after the words were spoken that he noticed how petty he sounded about this issue. Almost as if he was trying to have the 'last word' or some other attitude that was beneath him as an officer. He should have merely ordered the native back to his ship to stay in cover.

The human planted her arms by her sides and straightened up. "The point is, I can handle myself," she stated. A moment later and she added a "-Sir."

It did not speak well to his experience with this unit that this alien life form pretending to be one of them somehow showed more respect than the majority of the cybertronian wreckers did.

* * *

It was an optic.

Faint energon traces remained around it. Those traces carried the tinges of uniqueness, evidence of a field, evidence of-

_Fangback. Stout beaked. Waiting here by this sea for eons until her body caved in on itself._

_So young,_ a part of it wondered. The memories of _before_ never showed life ending so quickly.

That part was far from important. What mattered was the identity. The name, the frame, the life of another predacon as left behind in traces.

It was somehow more than disconnected memories. It was another outside its own mind.

Something internal raged but had no strength to pour out.

The predacon leaned down and took the optic up between its jaws carefully. The rocks around the bone moved aside at its head. Behind him, the seeker was tapping the pede of his armor down against the cave floor impatiently.

It felt those enemy fields getting nearer. Starscream did not understand they were coming. The predacon could not make him understand.

So it merely found the bone and waited to find out what it was to do with this piece of one of its own.

Before it had the chance to take off in the air again, the seeker straightened up.

It narrowed its focus down on the mech beneath the armor. Or rather, that mech's helm.

The words of the warlord were decipherable, originating from radio- no, commlines, the database called them commlines. That hardly mattered.

_«-just one?»_ the voice was saying. Starscream's mouth moved without words for a moment before saying: "The beast has already retrieved one bone, under my direction."

No. It was under Megatron's orders and the predacon's own direction. It was not even sure why this extra was with it.

_«Keep it safe until you have gathered more. If the predacon does continue to retrieve as well as it does now, then I should expect you to contact me within a cycle.»_

Starscream sneered. "Oh, he is doing quite well at-...master?"

The predacon did not keep concentrating to find out if the warlord responded. It was busy thinking.

Thinking on those last few words-

They were still sarcastic, still meant as an insult, grudging compliment at best, but- but whether or not Starscream realized it, he had said his comment in a manner unlike Megatron or Shockwave would have.

**He **is doing quite well

The air rushed under wings that were shared with a great warrior of old. One that would have commanded those like Fangback.

Could it...was it meant to...?

No further time could be spent on thinking. The strange fields were thick in the air- nearby.

Perhaps a battle could further jog its memories into clarity.

The predacon threw its wings out, dropped the optic at Starscream's pedes, and screeched up into the yellow sky.

* * *

So _that_ was a predacon.

Ultra Magnus gripped the cannon he had chosen from his armory tighter. The three-four- of them crouched above the gap revealing the two enemies below. One decepticon in large armor. Normally, that sight would register as a threat. Not next to that creature. Not next to an enemy of that size.

He pulled back from the gap and motioned for the others to follow. Still in the cavern, the predacon seemed frozen in place just staring at the ground below.

It was for the best that it be distracted.

"Soldiers," he said out loud, for the human's benefit. Without her inclusion, they would have merely used the commline. Speaking out loud set off alerts. It meant the creature below could hear them. "Prepare to battle. We should attack from above; keeping the beast cut off from flight could prove to our advantage."

Bulkhead nodded absently before looking at the human.

"Miko. Stay back."

She frowned. "No way. I want to help."

Ultra Magnus bent his head down to look at her as well.

"And you will," he interjected. "Reach my ship so you can contact Ratchet. We may require a quick retreat."

Giving assignments to a native was not necessary. He did not need to offer her any sort of job.

Miko saluted. "Yes sir-" she accepted eagerly.

A moment later and she was beginning to scamper back to the ship.

The plan she'd been given, as well as the plan he'd been beginning to form with his true soldiers, was interrupted by a dangerous screech.

And then the predacon shot from the gap in the ground, snapped its wings to hold it steady midair, and stared all four wreckers down.

* * *

Starscream found that he had a love-hate relationship with the Apex Armor.

On the pro's side, it was the one device in the universe that could let him feel safe.

On the other, he couldn't fly with it. Or move quickly. Or climb out of a stupid Earth cave quickly because it was too clunky for proper dexterity.

If he took it off, he wouldn't have that problem. If he took it off, he could merely fly out of the cave. But then the predacon could decide he looked just as tempting as whatever was currently up there making guns fire.

Not worth the risk. He dealt with the irritation and slowly scaled the wall.

When he had finally tugged himself onto the grass, Starscream was more than annoyed.

"I take it you've already disp-"

A weapon cocked near him. Despite the safety of the armor, he instinctively flinched before looking up to see the wreckers and _Ultra slagging Magnus_ standing over him. The predacon was nowhere in sight.

"...flown off without me."

Then his processor caught up with the moment and he remembered they couldn't do anything to him.

Not with conventional means, at least. But the Prime and Dreadwing had managed to find a way around that last time. There was no trusting autobots.

Starscream shoved past the nearest wrecker and made to make a fist. Something crunched in his servo.

Scrap. The bone. If Megatron was being serious about his latest venture, he cared more about some stupid bone than he did the autobots.

Who were currently shooting at him. Ahah. Hilarious. Such a cute attempt.

Someone fired a cannon grade weapon; the shockwave pushed him back despite the armor protecting him from the heat itself.

Alright, be that way. The seeker rolled away before the cannon fired again, stumbling up on the rather clunky pedes of the Apex Armor. This damned thing was getting in his way-

But it also kept him quite untouchable. No autobot could scratch him. No predacons either. Wherever the fragger was.

And it kept him from flight.

Which prevented him from getting this stupid fossil Megatron wanted so badly to somewhere less active.

Keeping careful hold on the somewhat crushed optic, Starscream grabbed the front of the Apex Armor with his other servo. The relic began to disconnect- fast enough that he could easily subspace it and transform to fly away with the bone in his cockpit.

Or it should have.

The smaller wrecker's sword came through the air. It hit the front of the armor as it had begun to fall into a now-very-shootable seeker's arms and knocked the relic away. Starscream found himself falling forward in surprise.

And then he was trying to shove upwards again. No, no, no! He was not about to lose that relic (again) in such an inglorious way! He was-

His optics fell on the relic as he pushed himself up to his pedes again.

Or more specifically, they fell on the human climbing onto his relic.

* * *

When she'd 'contributed' in that fight with the insecticons, Miko had just gotten lucky. That remote had just dropped near them. Dreadwing had done the work of sticking bombs on the cons.

But that was just how it went. Maybe she could contribute from inside a ship, like Magnus had been trying to get her to do before a _literal. metal. dragon._ flew out of the ground. Ships had guns. She could operate them from the dashboard.

That was it. All of what she had available. Just enough that she was stuck here where she couldn't go back to normal life and not nearly enough to actually integrate into this world.

The dragon had flown around a few times, taken a dive at the others, and then shot up. She had a bad feeling that it meant to shoot down to the ground next.

The ship was still far away. If she ran, she could maybe get to it in a bit over a minute, but if that dragon came back? Miko had stood split between choices.

Until she saw an opportunity.

It had been a wild chance, really. But somehow- just somehow- it had worked.

And she stood up in a suit somehow adapted to her size and stared a cybertronian down at eye-level for the first time.

The wreckers were running to catch up. Miko caught a look of disbelief and relief on Bulkhead's face. Pride on Wheeljack's. And something not-unhappy on the new dude's.

Maybe it was pride too. Or it was recognition. Recognition of what Wheeljack had said earlier.

Alien (to them) or not, she wanted to be a wrecker. And Miko learned at a young age that she got what she wanted.

Except she hadn't exactly wanted the robo-dragon to show up again. Armor or not, that thing was terrifying.

But it dropped screeching out of the sky towards the five of them regardless of any of their desires to see it again.


	74. Putting Value on Dirt

_AN- The first half of the third scene is a flashback. The rest is all present._

* * *

The dragon dove.

In front of her, the wreckers braced. Starscream gaped.

Miko wondered if-

It crashed to the earth and sent her crashing backwards.

-ah. Well, that answered that.

The force sent the others back as well. Miko could see them struggling up. Magnus was reaching for his big-ass gun.

And then it pulled up from the dent it had made in the ground and started attacking. Its tail swung out, throwing Bulkhead aside when he rushed for the commander. Undistracted by what its tail was doing, the head lunged for Magnus. He rolled out of the way. Then Wheeljack was running in, trying to fight next to Bulkhead, getting tossed around as well.

Miko realized she was just standing still next to Starscream watching the battle. He seemed to figure it out at the same time and glanced at her.

There was a beat.

Then the con was leaping back to get distance before firing one of his missiles at her.

The human grabbed it. Felt slight reverberations of the ensuing blast roll through the armor. Waited for the smoke to clear.

And she was still just as alive when it did.

This was perfect. She could finally match the game of these guys. She could finally tag along with the bots without being told to go back where she would be safe.

Starscream flexed claws and said something about Cliffjumper. Did he think that was impressive or something? He'd gotten one bot. She'd gotten how many bugs?

Besides. Arcee deserved to have this con shut up about her friend.

The dragon kept beating up her teammates while she charged at Starscream. Running in this thing was a bit unruly. She'd need to get used to it. Maybe Ratchet would let her keep it on Earth for practice.

Jumping, hitting, grabbing- just as unruly. But far from undo-able.

Their battle made it as far as Miko grabbing him in a bear hug and tossing them both backwards before he decided to be done. Coward.

Her attention moved back towards the other fight once the con had flown away. The dragon was stomping on one of her friends before its head shot over to her.

Scrap.

But it didn't freeze on her. It lifted further to the retreating Starscream.

Miko could've sworn she saw it shake its head before lifting up and flying after its...caretaker? Commander? Trainer? Who knew. She didn't even know why there was a metal dragon around in the first place.

She let out a trademark sound of disappointment at their early retreat before remembering that the bots had looked pretty bad when she'd last seen them.

When she reached them, the others were pulling themselves up from the ground. Bulkhead was holding his head and groaning. Magnus was slightly hunched. Wheeljack was the slowest to rise, attention stuck on the new guy's...arm?

Now that they were standing, Miko could take a better look at why Magnus was hunched in. He was holding one of his arms with the other. The way it was being braced, she couldn't say what had happened to it. It did look a bit fried. Possibly bent up, she couldn't tell.

The big guy didn't pay attention to it. He was examining her new armor.

Yeah. She thought it was pretty cool too.

Which, of course, was not what he said. He didn't say anything, but he didn't frown either.

They circled up. From the armor's height, they didn't all seem so huge anymore.

"Hey," Wheeljack hit her armor in the shoulder. "You brought your A game, kid. Like a true wrecker."

Not an honorary wrecker that was a bit of a load on the rest of the team. Miko prepared a response, but the swordsmech kept talking.

"And I wan' to remember us this way," he smiled at Bulkhead and her before glancing at Magnus's feet.

"Before the rust sets in."

He was driving off without explanation too quickly for her spinning head to even think about what he was doing. A green flare of a bridge opened and swallowed the wrecker, leaving nothing but grass behind.

* * *

There were enough bones on this world to find ones not far from the original location.

Each time they found a new one, it could see who it had once belonged to.

_Fangback was met by Redclaw was met by Ionspine._ It could see them all.

They had lived on this planet a few millennia before. They had lived without rule or direction. They had longed for lead and purpose and were left alone to do nothing but sit still instead.

That made it grieve and it was not fully sure why.

Losing connection to Fangback made it grieve as well. But it had been airborne and saw the moment it occurred; it had understood why the optic had been damaged, the taints drifted.

Still, it was frustrated with the seeker who had crushed it. Not just because of the fossil, but because he had flown away and that had forced it to follow. After the work it had spent in the air analyzing its opponents weakspots, it had been fully intent on seeing that battle to its finish- not leaving it prematurely to follow its 'commanding officer'.

The enemies had not pursued them. The predacon was surprised. It would have chased its prey had the situation been turned. That was how hunts were meant to operate. These autobots did not understand.

But it did. Instinctively, in memory- _something_ let it know.

The three fossils were held by Starscream, even if he had broken the first. He was ranting again. This time about humans and Megatron's stupidity for sending him here without extra soldiers and the loss of his precious armor.

Personally, the predacon was glad the armor was gone. It did not appreciate the relic. That armor made the seeker act worse towards it. When it was gone, Starscream was more careful.

The fear was not respect, but the predacon could pretend respect was what led to the fewer insults.

It wished it did not have to pretend. But until it knew what was real

-what it was in relation to _before_-

pretending was all it could do.

Starscream was taking them somewhere. He was talking about showing the three remains off to his leader and getting permission to go back before the autobots found them. The predacon was not scared of the autobots finding them. These three did not have weapons like that warrior on Cybertron did. These three had no bite to them at all. But it remembered that they had been sent to this world to find relics without enemy interference. It supposed that reasoning was rather moot in the face of this new development.

So it followed the decepticon through the air towards a drier region until a ship resembling the _Nemesis_ became visible in the dirt.

* * *

The high grade had really seemed like a good idea until they put it in action.

None of them felt like it was a good idea now.

Wheeljack had been one of the two to come up with the plan. Now he was in the back of a rec room- caught between the urge to slide away from the room and being frozen in transfixed horror.

There was something magnetic, something impossible to break free from, about Magnus like this.

_This_ was the real Magnus. Not that stuffy wall he manifested as normally.

This was the commander without filters or personality getting in the way of saying how he felt.

This commander hated them all without pretending otherwise. And Wheeljack hated him back. He hated how right he was about everything.

Wreckers were supposed to stick together. Magnus was going to tear them apart. His goal was to tear them apart and rebuild them into a perfect, orderly, moral unit of soldiers.

That wasn't what wreckers were. If that's what they were turned into, then _they wouldn't be wreckers_ _anymore_.

He finally decided the repulsion wasn't worth the unwanted guilt and tried to slip from the room.

"And you-" the commander's head lulled to the side, trying, failing, and trying again to lock optic contact with...him.

Wheeljack held still.

He did not want to hear it.

He did not want his teammates to hear it. He hadn't wanted to hear his teammate's track records and they didn't want to hear his.

"You think you're really something. You have no discipline. You're just a- a real bad fragger, aren't you? Think it's a compliment, go around touting it- just trying to be the worst fragger of the bunch."

Damn. Somehow, hearing Magnus cuss was worse than ever imagining the commander incapable of doing so. Wheeljack wanted to go back to thinking the other didn't even comprehend the meaning of dirty words.

"Covit, 15 vorns ago: during a prisoner exchange, you sent a POW back to his side with a ticking bomb buried in him. Held an unauthorized celebration over the destruction of the enemy encampment. You broke how many codes?" the commander tried to sit up and didn't manage it. His voice didn't seem to note the interruption that should've been there while he moved around. "How many morals? But that's worth a party. That's getting the job done, right? No need for responsibility. Why care about codes, and ethics, and clean-up? That's not the wrecker way. Not... _wrecker style_."

It sounded dirty when it was sneered like that.

"Litral Heights, 81 vorns ago-"

Wheeljack knew how thorough his record was; even the versions already scrubbed by intel to make the wreckers look better.

He knew this would take time.

And each sentence coming out of that drunk afthead would take a bit more of his happiness here away.

The incident had been bothering him ever since Magnus got back. It had been the last time he'd seen the commander. Wheeljack expected that to get brought up. He expected another dressing down: more of the same 'disappointed in you' slag, less of the cussing.

Instead, Magnus was the same as he'd always been before. Demanding 'sirs', being easy to peel the plating of, not understanding the teammates he was working with at all.

Wheeljack wasn't sure if it'd be worse to hear him bring it up or ignore it. Maybe he'd just been so plastered he hadn't remembered anything the next cycle.

He wasn't supposed to care about Magnus. He was supposed to be casual and uncaring about what scrap life threw at him.

But now Bulk was being all on-the-fence, all hesitant over following a commander or a fellow wrecker- all of everything he'd been like before leaving to join Optimus.

Wheeljack wasn't sure he'd ever gotten over Bulkhead leaving.

Frag this all. He needed off this world. He needed off before the rust that was always around him started showing itself to the people he'd come to really like here.

_«Send a bridge»_ Wheeljack commed as soon as he began to drive away.

There wasn't a question. Nearby coordinates sent to him and lit up in green. The wrecker changed trajectory to drive through it.

Immediately upon exiting, he rose up from the ground.

"Shut it," he waved behind him at the bridge while he walked forward. He planned to walk forward good and far. Far enough to leave this all behind.

It had been a good clean start. The best he'd had since the wreckers themselves first recruited him.

But they never lasted.

Ratchet turned to watch him storm past. "What about the t-"

"They're fine," Wheeljack snapped. "Battle's won. They've got a ship."

Thankfully, the medic closed down the bridge before starting the interrogation.

Good. He had no desire for Magnus or even Bulk (especially Bulk; Bulk and all the change and cleanness he'd come to represent) to come running through after him.

"Did you find the predacon?" Ratchet started.

Great. Conversation. Sounded like the first thing on his list that Wheeljack cared to be doing right now.

"The, uh, beast hunt kinda imploded on us," he answered. With that said, he tried to continue moving. His goal was the road leading out. The _Jackhammer_ would still be there. With the half jour or so he had before the others got back, maybe he could make good progress on fixing it.

And then he'd be out. Gone. Goodbye.

He'd done it before. Even though clean slates never managed to make the regrets go away, they were still the best option he could think of to bury those.

"What about the predacon?" the medic's voice raised in alarm. "If it's still running through human-"

"-not my problem," Wheeljack interrupted; he started to move for the exit again. "I'm not feelin' another fight right now."

Although so long as he was going solo on it, he supposed a fight would be welcome. It was working with others he wanted to avoid right now.

"Wheeljack." Ratchet crossed his arms. "You do not want to make me abandon a complex equation to venture outside my comfort zone."

They didn't even have a location to send him to, for frag's sake!

Somehow, the empty threat still made him stop in his second attempt to exit.

"You won' need to," he heard himself say. "In a few breems, your little medbay is goin' to get busy."

He shouldn't feel a need to report on Magnus's injury. He'd been dead-set on getting out of here without thinking about that injury because he wasn't planning on thinking about the commander at all (and because the way Magnus had set himself in danger in front of the other two right before he'd been knocked down, arm crunching- a move every part of Wheeljack wanted to respect but couldn't bring himself to because it had been Magnus making it).

Too late now. Wheeljack slumped. Plans for a quick escape drifted away.

It was always too late.

"How bad?"

The medic's voice was clipped. Professional doctor scrap.

"Not bad," he answered. "Just a servo injury. On Magnus."

Since he evidently didn't get to leave, Wheeljack slumped against the nearest wall. It was supposed to look casual rather than exhausted. He had a feeling it didn't.

"Magnus," Ratchet repeated. A moment later, he spoke up again. "He was your old commander, wasn't he? The one who..."

Heh. So the base medic remembered what he'd said about that incident, but Magnus himself acted like it never happened. Figures.

"Yeah," Wheeljack laughed. Just once. There was no thrill in doing it any longer than that.

Ratchet looked at the floor thoughtfully.

"And you were trying to leave?" he stated. Despite the cadence of question, it really was just a statement. He was transparent that way.

None of the rust was. He wished it could be.

"Leave Bulkhead behind again?"

"Again?" the swordsmech scoffed. "He left me. He left all of us. Didn' want a part in the dirt we all tried to make valuable."

If all you had was dirt, assigning value to it was the only option for sanity.

Other autobots wanted to be clean. The wreckers touted their individual piles of mud and used their dirt as currency.

Magnus never understood that. He thought he could come in and call them all slaggers without any comprehension of how embracing their slag was all that kept them together.

If it wasn't for what that attitude of his was doing to the wreckers, Wheeljack wouldn't even find it in him to dislike the mech. Call him soft and stupid, yeah. Hate him? No.

"The Bulk I knew isn' the one flyin' back here right now," he continued. "He left, he was gone, he changed. All mech's do. 'cept Magnus, apparently."

Small comforts.

"And you don't like that," Ratchet said.

Also not a question.

Because he was so fragging transparent all the fragging time. And here wreckers were supposed to be good at hiding weaknesses.

"Change?" he flashed dentae. "Nothin' good has ever come from change."

This time it was the medic that scoffed.

"So you just want everything to stay the same, no matter if things could get better." Ratchet frowned. "And here you were the one that told me to stop living in the past."

He had said that to the medic.

Because it was no good being regretful about things long done.

Because there were more important things to focus on than what happened in the past.

Because he didn't like to see his own reflection.

He was a wrecker through and through. They always had been the grand hypocrites of the autobot army.

"I've tried. But ever' time I get a clean start, somethin' comes to drag the old dirt back-" Wheeljack growled.

_Tungsten. Seaspray._

_Magnus._

Wheeljack had really grown to like what he had here. And then Magnus had shown up to bring all the slag back.

He'd been able to set aside regrets, past and future- but, as much as the world demanded change he didn't like, it also refused to let go.

* * *

Since Optimus had told him to 'use discretion', Knock Out decided not to explain about the synthetic energon/cybermatter mixture yet.

No, he didn't really know _how_ to be '_discrete'_, but it seemed right.

Late that cycle, Breakdown and Smokescreen had come back. There were a few minor nicks and scratches, but nothing much. The rookie acted out a few play-by-plays of their scuffle with mining vehicons before Breakdown had managed to escape with Knock Out.

They'd laughed about Smokescreen in their room after that. No new job came up. There'd be one soon enough: next cycle, actually. Optimus was already planning it. Arcee and Bumblebee had been rerouted to look for Shockwave's labs. Luckily, Knock Out had actually managed to remember a set location (mainly just because that specific lab had ended up becoming Predaking's makeshift base of operations before he'd run off the planet, so it was famous enough for him to bother remembering) for them to check out first.

It was just a waiting game now.

And a buffing game while they waited, because why not? He'd pitched the idea and Breakdown swore he was being honest when he said sure.

Now that he was concentrated on it, Knock Out admittingly could see that it was much more lively here than it had been on Earth. The end result was the same for him (being buffed), but the process-

The process looked like the autobots back in his own time. It looked like the interactions he had so envied.

"Knock Out." Breakdown had lost his grin just a bit when they were both lounging afterwards.

His musings cut off. "Hn?" he prompted.

"I haven't wondered this in a long time, but. But, when I used to ask, did you ever... _consider_ a bond?"

The natural reaction to that was, of course, _abort! abort!_

Being the strong willed autobot he was, Knock Out _did not_ in fact bolt from the room.

"I..."

What?

Ran away whenever the topic came up? Sneered at anyone flouting their fancy bonds?

"I couldn't think about it hard enough to _consider_ it per se," he admitted. "It's-"

Not something he understood.

Just like he couldn't understand the two endura bonds.

And not understanding something others touted as valuable made him uneasy.

"They made me uneasy."

What did he say now?

Nothing?

Wait, no-

"I'm sorry," he tried.

Breakdown smiled thinly. "Don't apologize," he said.

"No," Knock Out sat up. "I'm sorry I never told you. I always tried to shove the words away when I heard them from you or others. I shouldn't have left you hanging."

He hated when others left him hanging.

The other mech just smiled again.

"I'll leave it then."

But he didn't want to. Breakdown really, really did not want to.

Could Knock Out say he read that perfectly with perfect confidence? Unfortunately not. But he was pretty damn sure.

"Wait-" the medic said. "Just wait a moment. Hold that thought."

He stood up. Breakdown sat up from where he had been lounging.

"Wha-where are you going?" his partner asked.

Knock Out gave him a smile. "To get advice," he admitted even though he wasn't supposed to be someone who never needed advice. "I'll be back soon."

Instead of getting up or looking like the world had just ended at hearing those words, Breakdown returned to lounging back against the wall.

Seeing as the alternative advice-giver would've been Smokescreen, Knock Out found himself glad that Optimus was still resting in his makeshift office. Or working on their next mission, as it was. He ignored the plans no doubt being drawn out in the Prime's processor and stepped into the room.

Like he always seemed to, Optimus gave his visitor full focus. It was enough to make anyone deferential. Or it should have been; Knock Out didn't understand how it wasn't for certain mechs. He supposed the war would've been over long, long ago if it did have that effect on everyone.

The door shut behind him. Optimus gestured for him to begin.

"I was wondering more about what we talked about lately," Knock Out said.

But he didn't want to explain his confusion over bonding. He didn't even know how to explain it to himself.

So he went for a roundabout approach to his questions.

If they got back to talking about ideas versus what was really there- about how to get past certain ideas that functioned like roadblocks-

Breakdown deserved better than everything Knock Out had given him throughout their millennias together. A few Earth months didn't make up for what Knock Out had made their relationship into without once considering this form of pampering and affection wasn't what his partner wanted.

He was scared Breakdown was too quick to forget that.

He was scared that anxiety would keep him from ever adapting. And there needed to be adjustments on both their parts. He had adjusted so much in the last few stellar cycles, but something- many inexplicable somethings- remained in his way regarding the destination Breakdown was seeking (had always been seeking, he now realized).

So...

"Could you tell me more about Orion Pax?"

* * *

The_ Iron Will_ landed outside the Jasper base and deposited its inhabitants.

They were subdued. Even the human was subdued inside her cybertronian armor.

Ultra Magnus wasn't entirely sure why, but his suspicions lay on Wheeljack's departure.

He shifted and it had nothing to do with his crushed servo.

Prior experience suggested that the insubordinate wrecker would be gone when they entered the outpost.

Perhaps the other two's unhappiness was contagious; perhaps that was why he found himself disappointed to think of the soldier as gone already.

A part of him considered every desertion a personal flaw on his part. Wheeljack was like most of those others in that Ultra Magnus did not know _what_ flaw on his part had led to the desertion.

It was surprising to all three of them when the wrecker was still there.

The _Jackhammer_ was still hidden under stones and dirt-colored tarps outside the base. Wheeljack himself was sharpening his swords when they all entered.

Ultra Magnus wanted to tell him to stand at attention at the arrival of an officer.

He also had the uncomfortable feeling that Optimus would say something far different if it was him instead of Ultra Magnus who had just arrived.

The Prime did not act as a commanding military officer would. That much had become clear on Cybertron. And he did not require his team to act thus either.

Whenever Optimus entered a room, the soldiers gravitated towards him. Happily, even.

They did not wait to be dismissed.

They did not send any apologetic looks back at Ultra Magnus when they would rush away from him to swarm the Prime.

He compromised with his current confliction and said nothing at all.

Ratchet took him to the medbay and began work on his servo. When the procedure was finished, his servo was not repaired.

There had not been proper parts for that.

Ratchet gave him a regretful apology.

Ultra Magnus distantly dismissed him.

He stared at his replacement. It would be cumbersome. It would limit equipment choice.

It would make him extra weight. He was already seemingly extra weight during noncombat interactions with the current team. Losing combat capabilities-

There was a small sense of despair washing through him.

A noise finally brought his attention away from the servo and the despair it brought.

Wheeljack had planted himself right outside the medbay. He looked in, noticed Ultra Magnus staring, and looked away.

There was no judgement.

Ultra Magnus had quite expected there to be. In the wreckers, Wheeljack had tried to 'trip him up'; to lower his confidence; to be vocal in his desire for the commander to be removed from his unit by way of reassignment or injury.

The wrecker in the door merely stood there.

Perhaps-

Perhaps it was a peace offering.

Or perhaps he was reading into the situation.

He determined to let the soldier's actions answer that rather than their preconceived dislike of each other.

* * *

On the _Nemesis_, Soundwave was diligently working.

He had a duty to oversee global surveillance on both Cybertron and Earth now. Surveillance feeds and information came in layers. Soundwave oversaw it all.

He alone read the scanners on Earth. He alone tracked autobot ships' trajectories.

Where they flew. Where they flew back to.

He had known for some time that the autobots were working outside of the human state of Nevada. Human social media and the single insecticon strike had, in time, been his answer. It had placed activity in the city of Jasper.

The specifics of the base had not been known.

Soundwave matched the autobot ship movement to its stationary positions.

Jasper.

He overlaid a map of the surrounding wilderness.

Human satellite imagery and the warship's flyovers composed the map.

He marked the ship's stationary signal.

He saw the metal landing pad on the specific natural plateau beside the signal.

The data collapsed into a critical folder. Soundwave prepared to contact Lord Megatron.

Although the majority of the autobot troops seemed stationed on Cybertron, their Earth base could still be of use to him.


	75. It Was A He

_AN- First scene is a pre-series flashback._

* * *

Before Prima arrived, _he_ had full mastery over the planet.

He had legions under his direction. He had pride that no warrior had managed to touch.

And then Prima had arrived below his nest to spit ultimatums at him.

The being was so much smaller than him that it was amusing. Prima's plating was so featureless compared to his glorious regality. He had laughed, introduced himself, and plainly communicated that he had never been so much as threatened by any opponent from the Well.

Prima had carved the pride away from him.

He had learned to cave, to submit to a greater force, for survival.

When the cataclysm came, he followed the cybertronians down below the surface for survival.

He had lingered on and on and on down there. A wasted figurehead, a ruined god.

And he had at last faded away from life.

A life Prima's victory over him had extended. But one self-aware enough to pale in comparison to the previous fire.

Before his defeat, he would have never crawled below the surface. He would have assumed the celestial movements around the planet would not kill him.

He would have died far earlier, with the rest of his kind.

But he would have avoided crawling in caves, buried away from the stars by metal and defeat.

* * *

Optimus did not react much to his request. Not outwardly, at least.

"What do you wish to know?" Optimus asked evenly.

How to get past everything considered normal.

How to break routine.

How Orion Pax had done it-

Because with the how, maybe Knock Out could break his own modus operandi on the mere idea of a bond.

"You said that Orion Pax had enough loyalty to Megatron that it still affects your ability to just outright kill him," the medic recalled. "And I just- I'm curious as to why _he_ would be stopping you from killing him."

The Prime gave a little hum.

"It is out of long held hope. Even knowing how futile those hopes are, they remain ingrained. Orion Pax was close with Megatron before he began to show who he truly was. Their time together was substantial enough to leave these hopes with me."

With anyone else, Knock Out would've made a smug comment about whatever '_close_' meant.

He wanted approval from the Prime far too much to do so with him.

"Why do you ask?"

Well, for whatever juicy story was there.

But mainly because of his own decision making process.

"If yo-if Orion-" he corrected and internally rolled his optics at how complicated Primus liked to make things. "-was so close with Megatron, how did he start to pull away? Why didn't he join the decepticons?"

Excluding the amnesiac incident on the warship, Knock Out was pretty sure there had never been a time that any version of Optimus worked with the cons.

"For some time, we did fight together," the other said. "Primarily during the early portions of the war when we belonged to the council's militia."

An otherwise unaligned militia then. Certainly not decepticons.

"But why did you stop? Working with him, I mean," Knock Out asked.

Optimus frowned.

"After accepting the Primehood, it became apparent that Megatron had no plans for active peace," he explained. "While we continued an alliance, I could not continue to stand beside him. By the time we had taken named factions, I was resolute in my decision. Even if I hold onto hopes that stay my blade, I will always stand in opposition of his tyranny."

Knock Out believed it. The conviction there could be nothing but the truth.

"Why did you wish to know?" Optimus asked again.

It seemed he couldn't be deterred.

"Just...curiosity?"

There was no change in the other's expression.

Alright then.

"Sometimes I feel like there's a wall blocking off things from me," Knock Out explained enigmatically. "Rationally, I think I want to go forward- but I'm so _used_ _to_ shying away from that wall that I don't know how to go forward. All the appeal automatically goes to stopping, not adapting. I just wondered, since Orion did chose twice to become a Prime-"

thank the Allspark for that; the other options were far less appealing

"-somehow he didn't shy away from something that you're saying would bother him."

The expression grew even more thoughtful. How Optimus managed to be so thoughtful without combusting was just one of life's great mysteries.

"Even as a Prime, I struggle adapting past long held appeal," he said.

That was less helpful. Present-tense struggle meant there was no clean cut way Knock Out was about to hear to resolve his little problem.

"Alright." The medic frowned. "Well, thanks anyways."

He made to leave. This time it was Optimus who asked him for an explanation.

"We will be moving for Shockwave's laboratory as soon as the others return. You are the only one of us who has seen or spoken to a predacon before, so I ask you: do you believe we can reason with the predacons that you theorize will be there?"

Honestly? He had no clue. He'd never paid all that much attention to predacons. And the entire incident with the lab had seen him far too preoccupied with enjoying Starscream's clever vies to usurp Shockwave and hilarious acting skills when enacting the ploy itself. That was all far more attention grabbing than the (now apparent) genocide being committed on Earth's surface by both factions.

"It would be better than having them all out for our heads," he shrugged. "But I don't really know what any of the lab specimens will be like. They were all killed off in my old time."

The far-from-helpful advice was conceded with a nod.

"And who can say?" Knock Out added with a smirk. "You've got a commanding presence; they'll probably step in line without argument. Maybe with you around, they won't try blackmailing the government for favors. You. You will be around, right?"

He'd already asked that.

He'd always been told that wasn't a promise the other could make.

"I will not be leaving so long as this war draws on."

That wasn't an answer to the predacon problem.

"This army could be a thorn in whatever set up we create when the war does stop drawing on," Knock Out argued. "Just because it'd technically be peacetime doesn't mean the predacons won't make problems."

There was a moment of silence while the Prime frowned down at his desk.

"I am a Prime," Optimus said. As with so many words he spoke, his voice was somber. It seemed sad. "I took the mantle on because Orion believed it would help return peace to our world. But my creation was one meant for a war; I seek to see it through. All that comes after is impossible to speak on."

So he did want to go. He wouldn't stay on as a leader once his military lead wasn't needed.

Just like last time. Ironic, really. After the war ended, both Megatron and Optimus got their own minor victories: they both left the reborn world behind. One did it out of, well Knock Out supposed it was meant to be guilt (but viewed it more as cowardice. Not that he complained about the Big M being gone). The other did it out of selfless duty. He returned to the Allspark for all their sakes. As someone who couldn't be selfless- who tried to emulate it but did so always through rationality and hid how his most altruistic looking actions had still been chosen to benefit himself- Knock Out had found this sacrifice mindblowing. Life changing. He'd started trying to emulate that behavior, even if he did it for himself to try to feel the excitement and self satisfaction that acting like his hero brought him.

Now he wondered if it had been completely selfless. It'd had the added bonus of letting Optimus leave, rest, after all. He was a mech weary from war but purposeless without it.

"When we win, will you leave?" he couldn't stop himself from asking.

Optimus did not answer for some time. The silence was telling.

"I do not know, Knock Out," the Prime finally sighed. "Had you not spoken briefly of what your world became in its peace time, I believe I would easily go. Now I am left uncertain."

And he sounded so defeated in admitting it. A twinge of discomfort hit Knock Out; he felt as though he had caused the other hurt by asking it. Once, he and Breakdown had enjoyed battling the autobot leader; there was a thrill in seeing electricity run through such a powerful mech and knowing he was the one to cause it.

There was no such thrill after he'd come to enamor Optimus's leadership and seek for his affirmation.

Even if he seemed tempted by the idea to fly away once peace time was real, that affirmation was still worth any makeshift selflessness.

* * *

They landed down smoothly. Starscream transformed gracefully with the characteristic grinding sounds. It had heard those noises when it needed to make its plating more compact to fit within caves or the decepticon tunnels. The ability to morph seemed innate, unlearned- shared by them both, despite their differences in species.

It had watched the flyers take off from the deck of the _Nemesis_. Their movements were fluid, uncontrolled by constant thought- as though they were doing the evolution from frame to frame unconsciously.

The warship's database had again been inquired of. They called it _transformation_. The verb was fitting.

This transformation was made possible by the presence of an organ designated the _T-cog._

It thought of shifting plates and constricting wings.

But it did not have the time to experiment. For now, all it could do was search its memories for answers. They were often disoriented and unhelpful. It had yet to find real answers there.

"I find the mere idea of more of you running around repulsive," Starscream drawled.

The feeling was mutual. The idea of another Great Cataclysm sounded preferable to more Starscreams running around. Even if the one was rather fun to chase when he did run.

Although what did he mean? Was this confirmation of rumors and its own theories?

Were there to be more predacons?

"But I will not wait longer to tell Megatron of my success here."

_Our_ success. It had no voice to say thus.

"The sooner I inform him, the sooner I get off this slagheap," the seeker continued as he strolled up into the wide tear in this downed ship. It curved downward deeper into the ground of the planet outside. The predacon clipped forward, hunching down to fit within the small halls. Even compacting, its plates scraped against the walls and tore through them. Starscream looked back at its progress, saw the damage, and scoffed.

"Go back outside," he sneered. "The _Harbinger_ will no more fit you than the _Nemesis_."

It took a few more steps forward in answer. Doing so earned another scoff, but the seeker continued moving deeper.

They entered a room. Or Starscream entered it. The predacon stuck its head and neck through and dropped its chin to the ground.

If it were to admit it, then it was bored. But such behavior was undignified. Those warriors in its memories were dignified and patient. If those memories did belong to it, then it must also be the same.

Starscream had walked to the end of the room and was currently cursing at the technology. He moved away to another room, returned with a siphon, and took energon from his arm to power the monitors inside the room. The predacon remained where it was and watched the proceedings.

After more cursing, the screens flared to life.

On the video feed stood two cybertronians. The two most important cybertronians in its functioning: Megatron and Shockwave, side by side.

But behind them...

Starscream pulled the fossils from his cockpit and began to show them off. It did not notice. Its attention was stolen by the yellow tubes making up rows behind the two.

They were there.

Predacons. Far from a legion, but _they were there._ They lived in the test tubes it had come from. They would come from them as well.

This was what the fossils were for.

Shockwave was cloning more. More, just like it was.

Fangback would grow and live again. She would once again function, if just to wait still on a planet for orders that never came.

Redclaw would spread his wings and fly again. He would do this without direction unless someone was there to direct him.

Ionspine would burrow once more. She would build nests around hotspots or deposits, but without a leader she would remain in those nests until her body deteriorated.

They all had deteriorated that way. A short life without purpose. Created, recreated, sent to protect decepticon places of value and wasting away while doing so.

Recreated? it thought back. Yes- recreated was the correct word. The three it had found here had lived twice. Once in the era with the golden warrior and once in a second life cut off from that era.

Just as it had.

It was a recreation. It was a clone.

It was a reincarnation.

And those memories- that life-

The predacon whined under the pressure of it all.

They had not been full, real. They had been disjointed, unconnected. Nameless, confusing.

But then it saw its brethren. It was made for brethren. It was meant to lead them.

Memories supplied the name before clouded and unreachable- the name of the golden warrior, the life before, the life forever.

It knew what it was now.

_It_ was a _he_.

And _he_ was _Predaking_.

There was the noise he'd heard from the smaller cybertronians. A familiar sounding grinding- but the cybertronian in front of him was not moving. There was no transformation from the two on the screen either.

The noise came from him.

When it finished, his optics stared down at his own paws. They were fashioned as servos, like those of the decepticons. And his optics- they were smaller, more focused on just what was nearby; they had pulled inside, gone dark, and returned just like this in this new...mode.

He took a single step forward on one of just two pedes. His gaze rose up from his new servos to the other mechs.

Other mechs. He was a mech now. And yet, he was not. He was a predacon first where they were mechs first.

His step sent Starscream reeling backwards. The seeker clattered against the machinery behind him.

"I-I did not realize that the beast was capable of transformation-" he stammered, looking at the still running broadcast to Cybertron. On the screen, the warlord was frowning.

"Nor did I," Megatron looked at Shockwave.

Nor had he.

And yet he had. He had surpassed those predacons in its memories through need.

The need to tell his masters of his sentience and the sentience of every predacon that grew in that laboratory. He had to protect them, to lead them, to offer them an escape from the mistreatment he had endured.

He would not pass judgement on to his allies for that mistreatment. They had not realized his cognizance. But in this body- in this frame, he was not voiceless. And so his brethren would not be voiceless either.

"I am no beast-" Predaking growled at the seeker, who shoved himself on top of the machinery in response. There was some vindictive pleasure in the sheer surprise seen there, but it mattered little in the moment. His focus remained on his people.

New servos rose and graced onto the monitor. He let out a soft gasp, face laxing from its earlier insult as he pretended he was on the other side of that screen. The cold metal under his palm could be the glass of a tube. Warm, perhaps, from the cybermatter inside. Pulsing with a brother's life.

Megatron had looked away from Shockwave to see him. Finally, they were able to stare at one another as equals. Yes, Megatron was his master and the uncontested leader of his righteous cause. But Predaking was no mere tool.

Shockwave spoke again flatly. "The ability to transform is a fundamental part of cybertronian biology. We simply possessed no evidence that the predacon species ever reached that evolutionary stage since they became extinct in the Great Cataclysm."

Yes. Yes, they all had. Even if the event had not killed him then, its prolonged state left him to rot until he had joined his brethren in extinction.

"So. The rumors are true," Predaking breathed out. It seemed Starscream's hints and mentions had not in fact been lies.

What else had not been?

"I will no longer be alone."

The warlord on the screen did not deign to respond to his isolated relief. "I see you've been keeping secrets," he addressed the predacon.

That pulled Predaking from his reverie.

"It was not my intention to deceive you, Lord Megatron," he shook his head. "I only recently became aware of my abilities."

Very, very recently. Mere moments ago, in fact. If only he had the time to practice before this revelation...

When there was no response, he determined that the decepticons deserved elaboration and explanation.

"Before, I-...All I remember of my beginning is hunting and battle and the wounding of my pride."

There was a snarl thrown at the largest culprit of such behavior. Starscream choked on a nervous chuckle.

"Thus I began to burn with questions: who am I? where did I come from? The warship's database provided historical fact but still I possessed no memory of my past."

Or rather, no clear memory. There had been those disconnected images but they barely felt as though they belonged to him.

If he were to be honest, they still had not fully integrated. They were still watched from beyond a screen. But they were open to him now: they hid nothing, even if they did not integrate.

"So I began to reconsider my place in the present and wondered_ 'could I be like the others?_'." Predaking looked at his new mech-styled servos in wonder. "And now I know."

"Yet you are unique!" Megatron praised. "A miracle of science! Cloned by Shockwave from cybernucleic acid recovered from the remains of your mighty ancestors."

It was praise.

But it was also calling him...it was...

He did not know, but he blamed the suspicious unease on Starscream.

"And it is with deepest gratitude for my creation that I pledge undying obedience to you: my one, true master," he swore. "But with more of my species soon to stride among us, I beg your permission to in turn lead them- as _Predaking_." As who he had always been, even when he had not known it.

There was a very safe, guarded response.

"Your vision...is boundless." Megatron mused.

The warlord did not trust him.

So Predaking endeavored to plead his case until the warlord told him all worry was for naught.

And when the screen grew dark, he smiled- Starscream's presence there or not be damned:

he finally felt the peace of belonging.

* * *

The replacement had very little dexterity.

If Magnus tried to hold the datapad with the replacement while his good servo typed, it slid between the large, claw-like gaps. If he tried to type with the replacement, at least it could be held steady but it could do very little real good in finishing the report.

Ratchet had stepped in after the first two attempts ended with the datapad falling beside the berth. He handed it back, but told the commander that he could dictate while Ratchet inputted the details.

Magnus had looked ready to hand it back over, but he seemed very discouraged by the suggestion. The medic had a hunch that the commander had done his own reports since he was just a young elite guardsmech. As much understanding pity as that elicited, Ratchet was a matter of fact mech: if the commander was struggling, it was more logical for him to hand the job off despite that breaking a long held sense of honor in the task.

Wheeljack had interrupted that. The wrecker cut over the suggestion with a nod at the datapad.

"He can do it," he stated.

Yes, he could, but it would be discouragingly hard work for a before-easy task.

"I'm a medic," Ratchet replied. "It's my job to make my patients stay easier, not harder."

Wheeljack's expression didn't change.

"He's got it," the wrecker said again.

It was just making life harder for the commander but...Ratchet caught the surprised look on Magnus's face at what he now realized was a vocal show of confidence on Wheeljack's part and conceded the point; even if it meant rushing a patient through tasks his repairs weren't ready for.

He backed out of the medbay while Magnus returned to filing his report painfully slow. With those two preoccupied and Bulkhead spending the rest of the day with Miko, Ratchet decided to bury himself in work. Thankfully, he could access his formulas at the main monitor as well as the medbay computers.

But before he got to work on it, he noticed the message sent to him by a mech he wasn't particularly expecting to hear from. Knock Out? Possibly a medical question. Ratchet felt a flash of anxiety; was one of the team injured on Cybertron? A critical injury that Ratchet wouldn't be there to repair? _Another_ one?

It was not medical related.

For some unknown reason, Knock Out had decided to ask him about what the two major bonds on Cybertron 'really meant'.

As irritated as he was at the unexpected interruption, Ratchet was surprisingly fast in his reply.

It was a poorly kept secret that he had once been planning on a bond himself. Perhaps the younger medic had gotten wind of that history and forgotten that it was very much_ just history._

* * *

This development was unprecedented.

So many developments as of late were.

But this one felt as though he were once again staring down at Optimus Prime while his enemy flaunted the star saber below the Nemesis.

Only the star saber would never have been of any use in decepticon servos; the game had merely been to keep it from Optimus's reach.

The predacon army _had_ been in their servos. It had been made solely for him and his cause.

And now it too had turned into something too dangerous to hold.

He was careful to let none of these thoughts show as he humored the monster speaking politely on their transmission.

Its voice was so soft compared to how it had snapped out its first words. Its attention remained on the growth tubes behind them even as it spoke.

It asked for forgiveness for unintentionally deceiving them; it asked to remain in servitude to the decepticon army; it asked for an army of its own.

The predacon touched the monitor with a newly biped fashioned servo. It stared through the screen at the laboratory behind him.

"I _will_ do your bidding," it promised through its distracted focus on the other clones. "I will serve with you. You as the leader of the decepticon army. I as my bethren's king. And we all, united, shall be your greatest weapons."

It truly was an enticing proclamation.

But Megatron could not trust anything or anyone with ambitions, no matter how they swore off the idea of betrayals.

"A relief to hear," he said aloud.

And it seemed to be unarguably the emotion of relief that flashed over the alien faceplates.

"Very well. Return to Cybertron with Starscream."

The predacon stood taller.

"I will, Lord Megatron," it swore.

While it remained so, he motioned for the transmission line to be cut. The officer at his side obliged. The lab lost the bright blue light from the video and returned to the glowing ambiance of the liquid cybermatter.

Megatron stared silent at the now dark screen for a moment before he hummed.

"Shockwave," the warlord glanced at his lead scientist. "What is the easiest way to dismantle this production?"


	76. Shockwave Gets A Letter

_The existence and circumstances of bonds goes far back. The cultures before the Age of Wrath had more rituals and processes for such. Most of these rituals and the many bonds it offered were lost to time by the start of the Golden Age, let alone now._

_While there is little ceremony to stand on anymore, the continued use of the_ amica _and_ conjunx endura _linger on._

_An amica endura is a bond that started its use on the colony of Caminus and spread to Cybertron. There, you were supposed to 'rule out' any possibility for a conjunx with those you chose as amicas. The process on both the colony and the homeworld involved the same ritual, despite their cultural differences (below). An amica endura is supposed to signify a lasting friendship: a lifelong friendship. At the root, it involves mutually determining that you care for someone strongly enough to remain their friend for the remainder of your lives. The ritual itself involves baring sparks, speaking the phrase_

I invite you to stand in the glow of my spark that you may feel the heat of my words and know them to be true. I invite you to receive my light and in so doing become my amica endura- from now until forever.

_and then following would be a proclamation of the reasons why the parties would like the title of amica. Common qualities listed would be a history of loyalty, desirable traits, and really just the emotional reasons they're already friends for._

_A conjunx endura is closer to the ancient idea of sparkmates. This bond is outright built in a romantic desire to remain together for, again, the duration of the partner's lives. It previously had benefits such as legal recognition of medical decisions made by one partner for another when they are unable to make decisions. In the current state of Cybertron and its colonies, there are no policies to stand on in that regard._

_Rather than the ritual for amica endura, a prospective conjunx bond is built on four rites (the_ conjunx ritus_). The officialities of these rituals can sometimes distract from what the bond is at its core. Since you asked for the 'real meaning' of these rites, I assume you want to distinguish from the sparkfelt reasons bonds were created and the cultural rites regarding them. There is not one without the other. Each of these rites and rituals were created to show the emotional reasons behind the bond that was present before the word 'conjunx' entered existence for them. The conjunx ritus involves showing acts of singular devotion, not because they're trying to check boxes off a list but because they, in their everyday lives, already show these sorts of devotions._

_The titles and circumstances are built on devotion and trust and loyalty that was already there. This goes for both rites. Bonds are official and clinical and seem unable to adapt to the unique partnership of one close couple: but they were created for the very qualities a loving couple would already be showing each other._

_While the colony of Caminus itself saw the two endurae as separate, Cybertron blended them together. An amica pair could easily become conjunxes. In some cities (Praxus, for example), it was protocol to become amicas first. That said, an amica pair has no obligation to become 'sparkmates'._

_Having a conjunx doesn't stop one from having an amica. Similarly, there is no limit on how many you can take on. Both are meant to signify a lifelong bond, although they can be severed (most cultures ostracize such). It is meant to signify commitment to a lifelong friendship or love. Prospective members would have already determined to have this lifelong friendship and love. The bond is just an official layer to add on top of what both already know is there._

_If you want the opinion of someone who has had an endura, talk with Arcee. All of my information is clinical and observational._

_Postscript- are any of you injured? Optimus hasn't kept me updated in medical regards._

* * *

It was a frustrating breach of protocol that none of the other autobots currently submitted reports on their missions. But Optimus had not seemed upset with this behavior. Perhaps with the war so condensed to such small armies, the Prime felt there was no longer as much need for filing.

That would not stop Ultra Magnus. He had never stopped making reports at any new incident to arise. And the predacon attack in Scotland was an incident deserving of record. No matter how long it took to do it.

The datapad was set aside after the report was filed in the official autobot databases. Laboriously, Ultra Magnus pushed up from the berth he had been for too long confined to. Nothing but his servo had been injured. There was no need to move so slowly, no reason for his limp.

Perhaps it was psychological, then. The limits of his replacement (his handicap with typing/holding the datapad for a routine report, his upcoming inability to wield some weapons properly, etc) made him feel disabled. His body naturally wanted to act the same.

With that determination made, Ultra Magnus concentrated on walking normally. He left the medbay behind and saw Ratchet alone working.

"Doctor."

Ratchet looked his way and nodded in greeting.

"Have you made further progress with the synthetic energon formula?"

The medic did not look over again. His focus was on the work in front of him. It was admirable.

"It's still far from stabilized for use in living systems," came the unfortunate answer.

Ultra Magnus remained standing there a moment longer even after neither of them spoke.

"When will you return us to Cybertron?" he asked after the silence had grown uncomfortable.

There was a frustrated shake of Ratchet's head.

"When I clear you for duty," the medic answered. "Normally, that would be a half an orn. With the current circumstances, Wheeljack is raring to get you back in action and Bulkhead is antsy sticking around here when there's danger there. And, of course, Optimus no doubt needs all the help he can get."

Ratchet glanced up from his calculations to glare at the formula. Ultra Magnus wondered why that last sentence would spark such a response.

Pedesteps brought his attention away from the medic. They were too light to be Bulkhead's. And that soldier had the habit of driving into the base far too quickly rather than walking; it was a habit perpetuated by the human called Miko.

So it was Wheeljack that walked in. He was wiping at his own plating while he moved, but the lazy actions did not remove the green coating his form. It was coolant smeared all over him.

The wrecker paused when he entered the room and looked at him.

The former hatred still wasn't there.

"I recalibrated your ship's engines," Wheeljack said without prompting while he tried in vain to wipe some of the fluid from his servos. "You can expect a ten percent increase in vector thrust."

He finally left the futile cleaning action behind and looked up at the commander. One optic ridge rose alongside the corner of his mouth. Both of Ultra Magnus's optics widened in response.

_That_ action wasn't cleared by the nearest officer.

That was not the right response to make, Ultra Magnus decided.

"Doc," the wrecker glanced to the third mech. "When are we goin' back into action?"

A huff precluded the same reply Ultra Magnus had gotten moments before. "When I clear the commander for duty. Believe me, I'm in just as much a rush to get rid of you as you are me."

Wheeljack grinned before facing the commander again.

"He's ready. Aren' you, sir?"

It was that same unexpected vote of confidence. Another one of those peace offerings.

Ultra Magnus extended his own by not demanding better protocol or expressing anger at irresponsibility.

"I believe I am ready for combat," he answered carefully.

Ratchet huffed again. He began to mutter something lowly about 'stupid wreckers and their disrespect for medicine'. Ultra Magnus tried to tune it out. Optimus valued Ratchet enough that casual mutterings were allowed to slide past.

Wheeljack started for the decontamination unit and that seemed to be the end of what short conversation had occurred. But the mech paused, glanced behind himself, face guarded.

"Hey Magnus," he said. "You'll probably hear this as an insult but...you fought like a true wrecker out there."

Normally, that would be an insult. Wreckers fought without diligence or ethics or code-based strategy.

They also fought even better than the elite guard.

For one of the ones who most steadfastly stood against Ultra Magnus's inclusion in the unit to say that was...nice.

Having no idea how to say that, he just stood there. Wheeljack didn't seem to mind; he had already turned around to finish his walk to the decontamination unit.

And Ultra Magnus, at a loss of what else to do when all of his tasks were done, found himself walking to the training room where the other two 'wreckers' were. Bulkhead was running through simple drills with the other. They were standard rather than wildly eccentric; he appreciated the respect for basic maneuvers.

"You are leaving yourself open on the left," he let himself say after a few moments of watching. The human in the Apex Armor looked at him in surprise before grinning and sticking one thumb in the air.

He wasn't sure what the gesture meant but he did not find it disrespectful.

The wreckers on Cybertron had refused to listen to any of his combat advice. They saw him as an elite guardsmech that could not hold himself in any fight that didn't play by the rules. It was a gross underestimation of his skills and the reality in front of them, but the wreckers hated his very presence. Nothing he did would have stopped that. His feelings vice versa echoed their own.

But despite his revulsion towards so much about them, he had always tried to keep them all safe. He had tried to show them the fundamentals they were lacking (and received scorn in reply). He had found their constant hatred wearing.

Miko kept practicing. Bulkhead kept encouraging.

And Magnus interjected on occasion.

The advice was not scorned here.

* * *

The damn thing was bouncing. His steps were ridiculously light while he walked out of the _Harbinger_.

Disgusting. How dare anyone pretending to be important act so ridiculous.

The irony of the double standard wasn't lost on Starscream, but the seeker chose to ignore it.

They finally reached the outer section of the downed ship and the predacon's- were those wings?- wings fluttered behind it.

_Ridiculous_, Starscream mentally repeated while his own wings perked up at the wind brushing by.

"Well?" the self-proclaimed Predaking glanced back at him.

The monster was _huge_. He felt the instinctive need to cringe downward. The mech-alt of this predacon would dwarf Megatron and Starscream was well used to being dwarfed by Megatron.

Those servos could snap him in half.

And yet, when the predacon spoke its next words, he found himself more frightened by what political threat Predaking posed than his physical danger.

"Lord Megatron was quite accommodating of our news. The impression your..._complaints_ left me with implied he would not see reason so gracefully."

Scrap.

Windy breeze or not, Starscream's wings dropped down.

It seemed the predacon remembered all that.

Really, he'd never have said anything if he'd thought the thing was listening.

Or would find a voice to repeat any of those _complaints_.

"Er, yes. About all that." Starsream gestured slowly in a manner he'd long practiced to look appealing. "How about you don't go spreading any of my comments around?"

Predaking matched the same smile the seeker himself had given so many times.

"I'm not sure," he tilted his head. "Why shouldn't I?"

_Oh ho._ This was how it was going to be, then.

Starscream barely resisted a sneer out of self-preservation (getting the mech that dwarfed Megatron angry seemed like a very, very poor idea).

Instead, he swallowed back insult and pride and forced himself to take a few deferential steps forward.

"Our, _ah_, lord is not always the most understanding towards mechs that try to claim leadership over anyone," he began silkily. "I happen to be in a very close position to him in the decepticon ranks, however. I'm sure with my votes of confidence, he will accept your request for leadership."

The alien face curled into another smile.

"Your loyalty _would_ buy my silence," the predacon returned. "Although I still believe our liege has the best interest of both our kind's in mind."

This was too much like talking with Knock Out. Who was often like speaking with a (sadly disrespectful) mirror. Just with a far more stupid reflection.

Perhaps his commentary on life had rubbed off a bit too much on the being proclaiming to hold ancient, unmalleable wisdom.

It already knew how to blackmail someone. Starscream thought sarcastically that perhaps he should be proud.

There was no way Predaking had learned that from Shockwave, after all.

"Yes, I'm sure they're discussing how best to pat you on the back right now," he growled to the side under the stare of one convinced he'd won.

* * *

"I can drain the amniotic fluid with a few simple commands. A lethal pulse of electricity from the mechanism holding each compartment can deactivate the clones as they are. The bodies can be recycled for CNA."

Shockwave paused in his toneless explanation.

"But why?" he asked.

Megatron grit his jaws together and turned dramatically from the offlined monitors.

"Because these clones no longer seem like the questionless tools I had imagined them to be," the warlord replied. "Consider the one we just spoke with. His ambitions are already dangerously untapped." After a moment of afterthought, he added: "And he has been on Earth with Starscream through this all. Who knows what our beast has absorbed from him?"

There was just the slightest thrum of displeasure from the scientist.

"Unlikely." Shockwave denied. "My creation, if sentient, should be rational enough to avoid falling into Starscream's delusions."

Perhaps. Or perhaps that was personal pride speaking rather than logic.

Starscream undeniably had a way with words. Not many could stand against his manipulations when he truly tried or resisted shooting himself in his own pede.

Even without the danger of having left the inexplicably intelligent predacon on Earth with a known traitor unsupervised, that very presence of intelligence and ambition would have been a death sentence for the cloning program.

"Trust me: the moment our royal highness realizes that his army possesses greater might than what currently remains of the decepticons-" Megatron lifted a fist and drifted off in frustration before he pulled his composure back again. "I am left with no choice but to eradicate the predacon clones before they are provided the opportunity to eradicate us."

It had been a good plan.

But variables could be confounding. Adaptability was required for victory.

"Your conclusion is most logical, my liege," Shockwave said and so sold away the life project he'd thought most promising.

* * *

As it turned out, he only had time to speak with Arcee before the action started.

Optimus had obvious hopes for it all. He addressed them all before they started the job.

"We have it in good authority that the decepticons are trying to clone more predacons," he said to both those present and those listening from Earth on the commlines.

It was kinda funny hearing himself described as 'good authority'. Arcee and Breakdown (the only other two besides Optimus to know) both cast him an amused look he returned.

"Recently, I have learned that these predacons are not the mindless beasts we thought they were."

There was a sharp intake on the commline. Ratchet followed it up with a question. _«How? Did the Matrix show you?»_

Optimus shifted.

"It came from a reliable source," he evaded.

Of course he did. The big guy probably couldn't even lie without giving himself away.

"In light of this knowledge," he continued instead of offering any real answers. "-we can no longer be beast hunters. These predacons do not know of our war. They will fight us just as the original has fought us unquestionably, but they are pointed towards that from the moment they awaken into Megatron's forces."

There was a moment of silence while that sunk in. Then Optimus clenched one fist.

"We will now strike the laboratory where this germination is likely occurring- not, as before, to destroy it, but to take it from the decepticons and offer these predacons a separate path. Are we understood?"

No one complained.

No one on the con ship used to outright complain about Megatron's plans either, but that only applied to when he or Soundwave were in listening distance.

Autobots just did it because they really did believe in Optimus's plans.

Or this one, at the least.

The group sans wreckers drove for the lab. It was only a few clicks away from their current outpost so they'd rescinded an extra bridge to just drive.

Honestly, Knock Out wasn't all that sure about this plan. If it was anything like the Earth lab, then there were more predacons than the current autobot army presently around was composed of. And if they were anything like the ones who'd almost killed Magnus the same cycle Starscream later killed them in, well. Then they would be a bunch of immature, murder happy younglings with all the physical capabilities of Megatron or Prime. Or close to that capability. It was like imagining Smokescreen getting that size and power. Wouldn't that be a nightmare.

Knock Out had to remind himself that the autobots considered blowing up that lab a genocide. Magnus had been depressed forever after the war was over and he had time to think about the apparent sentience of the predacon species he'd allowed Wheeljack to blow up. No, Knock Out himself didn't really care much but the codes and causes and (most importantly) the bots thought it was important, so he did too. End of the story.

Even if they could all get eaten by an army of predacons who didn't care to listen to any of Optimus's speeches on rights.

If he wasn't so distracted with Breakdown's earlier question, Knock Out would've been stressing more about this.

They finally pulled up outside what the scouts said was the promising lab. True to his usual style, Shockwave had built it inside of natural cave formation.

"Autobots," Optimus addressed softly. "Be on your guard."

The group crept close cautiously. The last cave Knock Out was in was with Airachnid and he wasn't about to soon forget that horror. This time at least wasn't likely to end with a run-in with a sadistic psychopath. Shockwave didn't have the emotional creativity for that.

The darkness faded slowly back into light. It wasn't as bright as the dim sky outside, but there was an unnatural glow on the walls.

It came from the cloning tubes.

They were filled with yellow fluid. Or...mostly filled. Slowly draining.

The shapes at the bottom of the tubes were unmoving. Knock Out had visited the last lab to drop off his synthetic energon supplies and he distinctly remembered the predacon clones being suspended amidst the liquid. Not just laying there on the floor of the containers.

A little more yellow slid down.

The autobots had moved along the walls of the cave for cover. They were peeking out over the lab from behind what fallen slabs jutted around them. A quick glance showed them all to be frozen, optics on the scene.

In another world, he would bet their paralysis was fear of the army in front of them.

Here, they had heard Optimus's 'sentient ancient race's clones' spiel.

Here, they were just disgusted at being late.

Knock Out wasn't necessarily disgusted in the way they were, but he did hate failure. And from all appearances, this was not a situation remediable.

The Prime stood from his cover. His battlemask had shut and his optics were dangerously narrowed.

"Go-" he ordered and they went.

Knock Out was spinning his prod. Breakdown was near him. He always was.

Wasn't that the point? Bond or no, they were partners. They'd always been except for when the blue mech had died. Why stand on circumstance when they already had a partnership?

Not the time, he reminded himself.

At the monitors at the far end of the lab, Shockwave had turned at their approach. The scientist slipped behind his machinery for cover while the autobots fired.

Normally, even a capable creature like Shockwave would be outmatched by their attack. But he evidently knew that: a bridge tore open and admitted vehicons,- was that Soundwave that slipped through? no way to be sure- and-

Megatron charged out; he fired his fusion cannon with inescapable fury.

Well this all had the makings for a messy fight. Knock Out used the chance to run for Shockwave's systems. He kept behind the tubes, jumping whenever a shot strayed too close. One tube on the other side of the lab was hit by crossfire and erupted, corpse and all.

Lovely. Knock Out finished his panicked sprint and dove behind the same cover the con scientist had been using moments before. Now, Shockwave was near Megatron in order to better fire his own cannon as the warlord did.

All of which just meant the defector had free reign of his computers.

* * *

There didn't end up being much time. With the flammable fluid contained in each cloning tube, there were too many unpredictable eruptions for both sides to carry on a stable attack.

In the end, they were the ones to retreat first. Autobots couldn't exactly afford injuries like the decepticons with their well-equipped warship medbay could. And with the predacons dead, there was no point in staying around. They'd just been there to keep the army from Shockwave and Megatron's servos. Apparently, the decepticons themselves had finished that for them.

Knock Out supposed that meant Predaking had found out how to do that little transforming trick. Last time he'd done that, the cons had started plotting to destroy the other clones immediately. It was Starscream who'd come up with the ploy to show the autobots to the facility and let them do the dirty work.

If Ratchet's reports had been accurate, then Starscream was busy on Earth with the one living predacon.

Well, on the bright side, the autobots wouldn't incur all of Predaking's wrath for this! Knock Out realized that looking for bright sides wasn't _always_ the autobot thing to do, but frankly he did prefer to be positive about his odds and chances.

They had reached a ravine and slipped into an underlayer by the time the vehicons started flying in mass overhead. Down there in relative safety, the team returned to their makeshift base steadily.

And in that relative safety, Knock Out felt it was perfectly acceptable to move on to the next order of business.

Namely...

He drove back to another mech once they'd made it a jour away from their site of failure and commed for him to break off formation with him (and commed Optimus the same request).

...Breakdown.

Knock Out had the crawling feeling that he was forgetting something, but shrugged that worry off.

* * *

The predacon clones were dead. Their bodies were currently being repurposed as CNA. It had been a clean process. A simple throw of the switch cut them all off from fledgling life.

Some were wasted. Their amniotic fluid was combusted from passing heat whenever a blaster shot got too close. Shockwave did not appreciate wastes.

He did not appreciate the messy state of his lab.

And he did not appreciate the fact that his tools had been tampered with.

The scientist glared with his single, unchanging optic at the monitor as he searched for the evidence of tampering. He would find all that had been scrubbed or any bugs added and-

There was a file left in the lab record. It was titled IMPORTANT!

Shockwave did not title messages in such an illogical manner. He preferred his additions to be meticulously organized. He never used an exclamation glyph more than its grammatically required one time use.

So this was tampering.

He opened the file and found a message, seemingly left for him.

The note read, simply and inelegantly:

_Dear Shockwave,_

_Try mixing synthetic energon and CNA for shits and giggles_

_c:_

Shockwave did not know what a shit was and he never giggled.

...but the message's author could consider his curiosity piqued.


	77. First Steps

_AN-'junxies' was slang used in the IDW verse_

_Slight warning for vaguely mentioned Shockwave atrocities_

* * *

The discovery was fascinating.

Pure cybermatter. The type once found naturally on this once-living planet. The type once fired from the omega lock before its destruction.

But this- despite its sustainability in terms of available resources- was unstable. Far from usable in creating weapons or fortresses.

Shockwave found the source of the problem was within its components. The CNA was pure, cloned or not. It was the fuel source found in the traitor Knock Out's storage cabinet in the _Nemesis_ which provided the problem.

The synthetic energon was unstable. Combining it with CNA left behind ragged, wild cybermatter that could not be shaped by will or rules.

That was a problem that just would not do.

So Shockwave contacted Megatron to ask which cybertronian had created this unfinished formula.

Geniuses knew well enough when to contract the help of other scientists.

* * *

They'd found brief time to talk while Bumblebee went to deliver a mission report to Optimus.

Arcee sat on a ridge outside the small ravine where their makeshift base was hidden. Knock Out was next to her.

"And Ratchet told you to go to me?" she was asking in bemusement.

The medic shrugged helplessly. "_'If you want the opinion of someone who has had an endura, talk with Arcee'_ being the exact words."

His Arcee had never really mentioned having an endura. She talked about her partners in depth, but never mentioned those technicalities.

Hearing that from Ratchet had been the first time he'd heard anything about it.

"So?" he pressed. "Which one was it? Did you bond with both? Or was Ratchet talking out of his aft?"

This was personal information. He was far from adverse to finding out personal information, but trying to make himself care about said information on an empathetic level was different than his natural gossip drive.

That didn't mean he wouldn't _try_. Especially for Arcee's sake.

All of which was to say, he hoped that didn't sound too forward.

Judging by her single laugh, it hadn't been.

"No, he was right," Arcee confirmed. "It was Tailgate and I." She shook her head. "Cliff and I never made anything official. We were partners. That was it."

Sounded familiar.

Likely for different reasons, but still familiar.

"Why?" Knock Out decided to fish for those reasons.

Arcee looked across the ravine rather than at him.

"Tailgate," she answered.

"Too soon?" he asked.

The femme shook her head again.

"That was part of it. I had mourned Tailgate. I'd moved on from being his partner. It was his death- it was- it was how I failed him- that I couldn't move past. We were choosing to be careful," Arcee said. "By the time I could tolerate him-" she barked up another laugh. "-we were on Earth. The war was still going there. I'd already found out what it was like to have an endura die in the war. Neither Cliff or I wanted to subject the other to that."

She shoved at the ground next to her. Had they been on Earth and the movement would've likely pushed dust down the tiny canyon.

"But for me, it was...I didn't want to do the same dance I'd done with Tailgate. It felt wrong. Cliff and I were close, but we had a different bond. Calling what we had by the same term Tailgate and I used just made it seem like we were trying to use each other as a replacement."

Hmm. Not quite what he himself felt, but there was a ring to it he could almost relate to.

"Cliff was-" Arcee laughed. "He was _unique_. I wanted our bond to be the same."

Knock Out was _unique_ too.

He had always known that. Even if he hadn't realized his own deficits until after joining the bots at the war's end, he'd always known he _wasn't normal._

What 'normal' was (not that there were any true examples among the dysfunctional decepticons), he hadn't known, couldn't comprehend, and didn't care.

Bonds were normal.

He was not.

And, by proxy, Breakdown was unique as well: they were both special because Knock Out demanded they be. They had no time for paltry, boring, typical things normal mechs did.

After being around the autobots for enough time, he'd started relooking at past attitudes with a different lens. A part of him had already known he didn't quite experience the world the way 'normal' mechs did; now he just had details for those differences.

He wasn't sure he had distinct answers to explain his own repulsion whenever the 'bond' subject came up, but now he had theories.

The running one was that this innate uncomfortable understanding about himself left him knowing that a normal mech's view of partnerships (typically done with an endurae bond) couldn't apply to his view of the world (as hopelessly distorted [self-aware of that now or not] as it was)- so he compensated by telling anyone who thought they were close enough with him to consider a bond in the first place that they were too unique for such restrictive ceremonies.

There were all sorts of other issues, of course: he didn't find the concept of commitment very applicable when he was convinced anyone that mattered would automatically be committed to him and, so long as he was possessive, he would be the equivalent vice versa. Dry, standard romance was just as inapplicable and he chose to go with his form of pampering and protection. Anyone lucky enough to get that had to understand that meant they mattered, didn't they?

Maybe this wasn't so hard to pinpoint as he thought it would be.

Sure, it took effort to actually concentrate on a subject that made him want to run away, but when he did it just...it seemed to, however confusingly, fit with his twist on normal and uniqueness.

"Do you think you would have ended up being amicas or junxies with him?" the mech ended up asking next.

Arcee sighed but it didn't sound angry or even sad.

"Eventually," she admitted. "Eventually, we'd have found which one fit best for us. It wouldn't have been a perfect fit, but it'd prove how much we cared about each other. That's the point of a bond, isn't it? To signify a forever?"

He supposed. That's how Ratchet put it, at least.

It wasn't like he truly understood. He gave a noncommittal noise.

They went silent for a moment again.

"You really cared about him- well, both of you about each other."

"Yeah," Arcee confirmed. "We really did."

Silence again.

"I wish I would've saved him," Knock Out finally said.

The femme gave a slight smile.

"I wish you would've too."

And then, instead of ribbing him for not even thinking about it or bringing any of that up-

"He would've liked you," she added, a little brighter. "Oh, the conversations you'd both have. You're both so talkative."

They spent a few minutes wondering out loud what those interactions would have looked like before both were called in for the briefing.

* * *

_«What is it?»_

They sped over the hillside until Knock Out found a covered enough location to hopefully stay unnoticed and speak.

Instead of answering, he finished the drive. Breakdown followed dutifully.

It hardly seemed like the time to be splitting off from the group to talk. The entire mission had been such a bust. Normally, there was either frustration or anger over a failed mission. Or that's how it'd go in the cons. Megatron tended to destroy a training room after a failure. Motormaster had prefered to nearly destroy his teammates.

And Knock Out tended to collapse into all sorts of denial if he felt like he'd messed up.

_If_. Most of the time, he didn't really register a failure. Starscream had never understood how he could brush off losses with such ease, but the seeker didn't understand that the medic just didn't notice those incidents as personal losses. Breakdown understood how to read that because of how long he'd spent at this mech's side.

They transformed together, taking a good couple extra steps under the outcropping of metal.

"Alright," Breakdown tried again. "What is it?"

Because there was no way this had anything to do with the predacon incident.

Knock Out spun to face him with a dazzling smile.

"I just wanted to talk," he answered. "I have a surprise."

Oh? Well, that was nice to hear (unless it was anything like the last big surprise, no matter how much he'd ended up kinda liking the autobots he'd been forced to play nice with).

"What is it?" the blue mech continued pressing.

The medic stepped a little closer.

"Bonds." Knock Out tilted his head slightly. "I've been thinking about what you asked for."

_Oh._

Breakdown felt his systems cut to a stop and sent manual commands for them to continue their rather necessary processes. There was no reason to start overheating just because he'd heard Knock Out say he was even trying to think about that (when before he'd admitted to not thinking about them at all).

"I've done some researching to try to understand what the appeal is," the medic continued. "And it's. Well. Which one were you hoping for?"

It took an embarrassingly long time to respond.

"B-both?" he tried. "I mean, if I had to pick just one, then conjunx."

The other looked a bit downcast at that response. Breakdown wondered if he needed to start panicking over saying the wrong thing.

"We're not ready for that," Knock Out finally said bluntly.

It wasn't exactly the words he wanted to hear.

But recently, there'd been a whole lot of hearing words he didn't want to hear. The outcome ended up being better than the immediate unhappiness.

"What?" Breakdown asked flatly.

It made the medic shift.

"We only just did this whole... restart of ours," he elaborated. "And what I've heard about the endurae- we're supposed to know each other really well before that happens. We're supposed to have, you know, that...balance. We're still trying to get that. Wouldn't you agree?"

No, he wouldn't have. Not until recently, after they'd tried to break a long practiced routine. He said as much.

"That's my point!" Knock Out groaned. "That's why it doesn't feel fair for us to just tell everyone else we're conjunxes. That implies we'd be like any of them, not two partners just trying to figure out how to actually see each other realistically."

They both devolved into a disappointed silence.

"But you'd be alright with the idea now? When we are like how a conjunx is supposed to be?" Breakdown asked after a few minutes of that pause.

The other mech shrugged.

"I'm not ready for it. I can't do the ritus honestly yet. And should we really try if it can't be honest?"

He...he supposed not.

"Look," Knock Out slid his servo over his face (carefully so as to avoid scratching it at all). "Both those bonds are meant to express lifelong partnership. We _already have been_ partners for so long. We've been inseparable. And- as long as you want to too- I plan on staying partners for the rest of our lives. That's all a bond says; by all logic, we'd already qualify. But- but I want- I want us to be _good_ before we aim that high."

'Good'. Such a simplistic word.

_We were good, weren't we?_

The answer was complicated. No. Not quite. No more than June Darby's old relationship. No less than the most genuinely loving partners. It didn't make sense to explain.

But that's why they'd decided to retry it all. To be honest. To try not to see the other as a pinnacle of idealistic perfection or partnership.

"That's fine with me," he said. "Really, I'm just happy you even thought about it. That means a lot to me."

Knock Out gave him a sly smile.

"Oh, I've done more than think about it," the medic purred. "My original plan was to take you back here, flash my spark, and enact the whole amica shebang."

Once again, Breakdown had to force his frame to continue venting after that stall. They picked up use again a bit more forcefully than they needed to.

"We're already planning to be lifelong partners, so- my own lack of appeal for the formal structure of it or not- going for an amica endura seemed like the most logical idea; it could preface more down the road, you know?"

He _really_ had been putting thought into this. Breakdown never felt more fond of him than now. The old Knock Out didn't bother trying that. If beryllium rust sticks were Knock Out's favorite and ferrum flavored were Breakdown's, then all that mattered was the former. The idea of considering ferrum instead wouldn't even occur to either of them.

The metaphor was stretching it, but Breakdown couldn't help but compare ferrum to endurae: in the past, Knock Out wouldn't even _think_ about either existing if they didn't appeal to himself.

"But Ratchet's broke down the amica process for me and a big part of it is telling the other what parts of their personality you want to be their partner for," the red mech continued. "The problem is that I'm just now starting to try to find out what your personality would be without me, so how am I supposed to list off reasons that would really be about you? I'm not sure I have any idea what your favorite hobby is or-or-ergh. What I'm trying to say is-"

The servo finally dropped from those porcelain faceplates. Knock Out looked at him sharply.

"I know who I think you are. Now tell me who you know you are."

"Just-" Breakdown reached out to grab the shorter mech's shoulders (carefully). "Just for this?"

Knock Out dropped his head down against the other; his face was hidden but his laugh was audible.

"What do you think?" he teased.

They stood there a moment while Breakdown tried to think.

Alright. Himself. This shouldn't be hard.

Except he was just as used to defaulting to routine as his partner was.

So if he was ignoring routine, he'd think about actions to figure out what he was like.

He thought about all the time he'd spent with the decepticons for millennia. "I can't say I know why the war's been going on, but I know why I started to fight in it."

He thought about the times on the streets, the youngling he never got to be in the dirt of the Golden Age, the younglings the other Stunticons never were. "I know I joined for the new brothers I'd gotten because I wanted so badly to have people to fight for. No, they didn't end up being the unit I'd hoped they'd be, but I'm always ready to have people to fight for."

He thought about the vehicons in the army he'd had to deal with and who'd been so intimidated by him at first before they'd gradually loosened up. They'd wrestle together in the rec-room like Wildrider and Heatseeker used to, or drink through their feeding tube disconnected from below their featureless faces the same way Dead End had used to, or just listen to his stories and jokes and random advice in a way no one else would back then. "I really miss the troopers I used to work with. I still remember a lot of them."

He thought of Bulkhead, one half of his face slagged up, laughing at his rival's wisecrack over their shared optic injury. "I'm willing to let go of a grudge, I guess."

He thought of the arctic and Starscream holding out his cuffed servos. "I like to repay debts."

He thought of holding still while Motormaster scrapped him and of Bumblebee asking why he hadn't gotten rid of his patch. "I can be a coward, though I try to hide it nowadays."

He thought of the mere fact he was working with autobots now- and, more startling, how he was used to it. "I guess I can adjust when life changes."

He thought about trying to get along with the bots at the start- how the wreckers acted, that first mission against M.E.C.H. with Fowler, the overcharged aftermath. "I tend to be pretty easy going, although I'm also easy to rile up."

He thought about all the autobots and their relation to him, contrasting it with the relation to the troopers he'd once had or even the Stunticons long before. "I didn't want to join the autobots at first, but I think I have made a lot of friends."

And he thought of how willing he'd been to follow Knock Out and leave Motormaster's beaten frame and two corpses behind; willing to follow across space and faction lines, willing to follow if it meant playing nice with organics and enemies, willing to follow even when the doctor's personality had changed so dramatically. "And when I get a friend, I never ever want to let them go."

Knock Out breathed out a laugh, face still hidden. Breakdown didn't care if he couldn't see his expression. He liked the feel of the other's head resting against his neck. And besides-

he was pretty sure he knew what the expression was anyway.

"Well, you sound like a pretty great mech," Knock Out said, just as lowly as he had laughed. "I think I'd be really proud to call you my amica."

Breakdown folded an arm over the other's back and rested his chin on top of the shorter mech's head.

"Nowhere near as proud as I would be to call you mine," he countered.

* * *

They said the words together.

The red mech's spark was just the same as any other. Despite it all, the spark was just a spark.

Of course Knock Out was the one to instigate it.

Even after all the time together spent purposefully ignoring every suggestion for a bond, once he had determined to give it a try for his partners sake he was dead-set on instigating it. Only one cybertronian in the typical amica endura ritual opened their spark for the other to_ stand in the glow and feel the heat of the words_. He'd decided the moment he'd decided to try it out for Breakdown's sake that he'd be that one.

There was an undeniable rush to it. One felt that if he didn't try it now, he'd lose his nerve. The other just felt that he'd waited enough vorns for this to wait any longer.

The standard words provided by Ratchet were spoken. Then the listing of all those traits Breakdown had moments before listed off about himself. _For your loyalty to others and natural friendships and for being a maestro behind the buffer-_

Circumstance, ceremony. It was a little stiff, a little rushed, still just a little singular focused.

They realized after that just maybe, when they went for the conjunx endura, they should share the instigator's position instead of relegating it completely to just one of them.

It wasn't realized until even longer after that they'd both come to that conclusion thinking the word when rather than if.

* * *

It took effort to return to that recreation room. He'd checked with Soundwave first to discover when XL-2M99's shift was over and if the medic was headed for the lobby.

Then he'd steeled himself, moved through the warship, and entered as well.

The lively interactions inside fell silent immediately. The seeker stepped inside so that the door behind him would slide shut. The silence was just as unnatural after it had closed.

Finally, something broke it.

"Commander Dreadwing."

He recognized that voice. The flyer had a servo in the air, waving him over from the table he was sitting at. The vehicon with the medic's glyph painted on his shoulder sat subdued by the other.

Dreadwing took a few steps into the quiet room. "At ease," he tried.

The ease that came was minimal. No matter.

Around the room, vehicons purposefully did not turn to watch him walk to the table. It was stiff in its purposefulness. He found it to be awkward yet...better than how the bridge with all the other officers had been lately. Though thankfully Starscream had been absent, Dreadwing could still not escape the feeling that he was disappointing Megatron as a 2IC.

"Have a seat," XL-3T09 gestured when he reached their table.

He sat. The room began to fill with dim noise as soon after he was seated.

"What brings you here?" the flyer asked. XL-2M99 remained silent. The vehicon next to them rose with a muttered apology and left. If not for that third unknown soldier, Dreadwing would've felt the deja vu of the moment strongly.

"Merely to provide an update on the state of our army," he answered stiffly.

The nearest tables grew quieter as the vehicons seated there leaned ever so slightly closer to their own.

"Well. Continue on?" XL-2M99 spoke and sounded just as uncomfortable. That did make the slightest amount of sense. The medic was an officer as well, just as Dreadwing was.

They were merely officers that did not have a place among the high command of Megatron's current army.

"Project Predacon is underway," he began. "As we have witnessed from the strength of the singular one, this unit of clones will be a combat edge the autobots will fail to stand up against."

While he paused, the room waited. Dreadwing wondered if it was a matter of pride- had he insulted their own combat capabilities?- or if it was fear. If it were the latter, he wanted to put the worry to rest. Even if they were retired from their combative position, they were not to be dismissed from the ranks.

"This does not mean you will no longer have a place among the decepticon army," Dreadwing made to reassure them all even if his words were meant for the two in front of him. "If Project Predacon should become the bulk of our attacking force, then your positions will merely be moved. I have already lobbied for more non-combat jobs to be offered to our armies. Our medic-" he nodded at the miner-frame "-shows that adaptability to new positions is more than possible."

Silence followed the remark. Then the flyer shuddered.

"Oh no. No, no, you didn't-"

While he devolved into nonsensical non-words, Dreadwing was taken back. This was hardly the reaction he expected.

"When vehicons aren't needed in a fight, we don't get transferred to new jobs. We-how to put this-"

XL-2M99 shifted in his seat while his friend continued his worried rambling.

"Where do you think Shockwave gets the biomatter for his clones?" XL-3T09 finally found his words while he leaned forward.

Dreadwing did not know what th-

...oh. _Oh_.

The seeker felt nausea roll through him.

"Stop it," XL-2M99 elbowed the flyer at his side before looking at Dreadwing. "Don't listen to him. Shockwave found the resources to clone biomatter from non-living substances after the first few waves of vehicons had been created. He doesn't do _that_ anymore."

'That'. What a simplistic way of putting the apparent expendability of the vehicons in Shockwave's laboratory.

Dreadwing remained stone faced. The other two glanced at each other and passed private nonverbal conversation. He was, once again, the odd mech out. Perhaps coming to this room had been a poor idea. Perhaps lobbying for new positions for these soldiers had been as well.

"Listen." XL-3T09 spoke first after turning back slowly. The medic continued to glare at the flyer. "Um, outcome bad or not, we. We appreciate it."

"Few of our previous commanders would bother speaking out for us," XL-2M99 added.

And that was the fault of the officers, not the vehicon army. One he alone could hardly try to rectify.

"I think, in general, we appreciate everything," the flyer continued. "Getting back our dead, going after the humans. Bringing me to the medbay for _this_-" he drifted a servo over the welds on his chest.

XL-2M99 nodded in agreement. His was a non-vocal language, but no more judgmental than the flyer's currently was.

"In fact-" XL-3T09 leaned back in his chair again and glanced around the room. "I'd say we all appreciate it."

There was a smile in his voice. One servo had curled around an energon cube. The V-optic stripe was overbright while his head tilted to one side. "So cheers to you, commander."

He toasted the cube into the air.

More than one vehicon in the break room lifted their own. XL-2M99 had yet to look away from him even as he gave an inclined nod.

Dreadwing was not sure that this was proper military protocol. He wondered if Soundwave was watching and if Megatron would be angry to see such behavior among his ranks.

He found himself relieved to see their approval despite that concern.

* * *

Altogether, he did not spend long in the recreation room. Though the interactions around him felt slightly less false than they had orns before, Dreadwing still knew he was keeping the troopers from being at ease.

When XL-2M99 finished his energon and stood up, the seeker followed.

While the medic excused himself and walked from the room, the 2IC did as well.

They walked back through the halls towards the officer's rooms in relative silence. Since at no point did XL-2M99 tell him to leave his side, Dreadwing followed him all the way to the medic's room.

"The others were glad you came to tell them in person," the vehicon said while they waited outside the door.

'The others' was but a way to exclude himself from that gratitude.

"I was merely doing my duty," Dreadwing replied. "I only wish the growing strength of the decepticon army would not endanger our brethren."

The vehicon lifted a servo joltingly and dropped it down. There was a strangled appearance to how he twisted, how he evaded looking into the taller officer's optics.

"We aren't who you think we are," XL-2M99 said softly and his voice seemed strangled as well as his mannerisms.

If this meant-

The vehicon cut off that thought when he spoke again.

"We aren't your brother, no matter how much you try to make us his replacement. We will never be the one you lost."

He slipped into his quarters before Dreadwing had found a suitable reply.

But he still had not found a suitable reply even by the time he had reached the bridge for duty.

Two officers were waiting for him there. Starscream had not yet returned. Dreadwing was glad for it, though he would not be so immature as to say that to the others.

Shockwave and Soundwave watched his cautious approach. It was every evidence that they were here to speak with him.

"Commander Dreadwing," Shockwave greeted.

He prefered the greeting from the workers of this army. From those he'd determined worthy of his protection. From those who fought the hardest and died so commonly for Megatron's army to push forward.

He did not want to hear it from the mech that apparently had no qualms with recycling those very troopers.

"Project Predacon has been dismantled," the emotionless voice continued. "You shall help me in securing my next mission."

As a seasoned warrior, Dreadwing liked to consider himself ready for anything and quick to adapt to his master's newest requirements.

This did not stop his confusion nor the growing entitlement for elaboration this officer position left him feeling.

"What?" Dreadwing startled.

The scientist did not react.

"The cloning operation has been dismantled," he repeated flatly.

Then they were dead.

Then the decepticons had killed their predacon army.

And all Dreadwing could feel was relief. Without the predacons as the attack force of the cause, the vehicons would not be seen as extra weight and sent to be dismantled and recycled in one of Shockwave's labs.

"I see," the seeker said.

There was no elaboration. Soundwave never moved. Not even when Shockwave looked his way as if expecting him to take over.

"I have begun a new operation," the scientist began when no such help came from the voluntary mute. "However, my experiments thus far have shown great instability. I require the creator of the formula I have been using."

It was then that Soundwave did 'speak'. His visor flickered to life and revealed the image of the autobot chief medical officer.

Dreadwing still did not understand where he played into the picture.

"What does this mean?" he asked. "Am I to lead a raid on an autobot base we do not know the location of to find access to a formula I could very well miss?"

The cyclops did not react.

"No. You will remain here. Soundwave will spacebridge directly to the Earth base hosting the autobots and discover the location of the autobot Ratchet."

And still that provided no answers.

"What is our lord's will for me?" Dreadwing frowned. "What does any of this mean for me?"

If he were a more experienced officer, perhaps he would understand that answer from the otherwise unpointed information they had told him.

But he was not an experienced officer.

He was older than most, perhaps all, of those on this ship and yet had the least understanding of the military he was only now playing a role in.

It frustrated him.

"It means, my lieutenant," a different voice interjected. His servo came down on Dreadwing's shoulder almost as it used to companionably, many millennia ago. "-that you will need to ready this ship for a guest who may otherwise have plans to dismantle anything he can here."


	78. Honeyed Words

_AN- First scene is a pre-war flashback. Warnings for mention of syk, nuke, and circuit boosters in general._

* * *

It was, unsurprisingly, Orion's idea.

He invited Ratchet to get a cube at their favorite bar. The catch?

It wouldn't just be the two of them.

The medic was certain that this came from their recent talks about the figurehead revolutionary. Orion wanted Ratchet to have better chances at seeing the gladiator that he spoke so ill of.

Ratchet resigned to the occasional visit of both the archivist and the warrior in his backstreet clinic.

This cycle was a slow one, at the least. Orion had excused himself to go outdoors (he grew despairing if he stayed inside the clinic for long spans of time); Megatron remained where he was, making casual small talk with a medic that did not wish to hear him.

The shift crawled on. The door leading to Ambulon's wing opened and admitted a patient, who had walked to Ratchet almost confidently before drawing short in shock at the sight of the visitor.

Of course.

Anyone would draw up short after seeing Megatron of Kaon lounging in a room far too small for him as though he belonged. But for one of the many (recovering, Ratchet added with hope he knew he shouldn't indulge in) addicts that revered him as a hero to see that sight in front of them?

"Ratch-ah-"

The medic positioned himself in front of the beige mech.

"It's nothing," he said. "Go pick up your patch."

Drift didn't. He was busy frozen in place, looking up at the revolutionary walking closer to them both.

"You hardly need to pause your task on my account," Megatron chuckled. He continued moving closer. The clinic floor shook under those pedes.

He wasn't pausing on the other's behalf. He was merely keeping his patients safe from hearing foolhardy talk; he couldn't stop that talk from ringing across the net, but he could keep it out of his medbay.

"And who is this?" the former gladiator tilted his head at the patient gaping nearby.

Ratchet wanted to tell him to mind his own business. To stay away. It was clear enough in his body language.

"A-ah-I-" the street mech looked up, up, up at the intimidating presence of this uninjured visitor.

_You don't have to say a thing, kid. Just turn around and find your patch for the orn and get one of the nurses to run you through the PT of the cycle._

"I'm Dr-rift," the kid finished despite any of Ratchet's internal suggestions.

Of course he had. This mech was his idol. He and Orion were alike that way. _Wasn't that right?_ the medic glanced between the young bot next to him and the door to the outside where Orion was. Weren't they both avid listeners to any of Megatron's speeches?

Neither young bot answered him.

"I-I'm a big supporter of y-yours," the beige mech (so newly repainted with supplies at this very clinic; supplies he wouldn't have found elsewhere while living on the unforgiving streets of the _Rodian_) continued with a bit more confidence.

The gladiator's smile grew wider. How did no one else find the gesture dangerous? It showed off untamed fangs; but that was the thrill, wasn't it? That was the reason this mech had managed to become such a celebrity, wasn't it? The bored of Iacon wanted to flirt with danger.

Despite it all, Ratchet was still annoyed by that. It was objectifying. It was unfair to the mech himself.

But he had little time to sympathize when Megatron's desperate followers were planting explosives in public spaces or luring enforcers to alleys to slaughter them- a purple icon painted up over these spots. An icon he had seen Drift and other patients from the_ Dead End_ scratching on the side of his berth when bored from sitting still.

It killed Ratchet to see the nuke and syk addicts brought into his clinic, all too hopeless to believe they had a chance to be anything but an addict (and, so long as the caste existed, they were correct). It killed him far more to see them get their hopes from violence spread by this very figurehead of revolution. Megatron led to more street mechs dying out of newly fueled stupidity than the boosters ever had.

"Enough of that," Ratchet frowned at the kid. "You're supposed to be picking up your patch."

They gave them out to all the addicts they brought in that survived to leave another day and return for a new patch every orn. Drift was one of those survivors. Hopefully, he would continue to be.

It did seem like the advice Ratchet had given him when his team had first pulled the kid to the clinic had made some kind of impact on him; he'd kept coming back for the patches and physical therapies to get his frame back in semi-functional shape. Many of the other street mechs didn't. Their frames either couldn't handle the withdrawal or their minds couldn't.

Or maybe he was just showing up for the free decontamination and paint.

Ratchet had gotten a bit used to the other dropping in for his patch; he'd gotten a bit used to hearing him talk about the promises shared by one Megatron of Kaon; he'd gotten used to thinking maybe there was some point in hoping left in a world that tended to only show him the ugly.

And to him-

to him, Megatron of Kaon was ugly. He was taking mechs like Drift and filling their heads with sweet words on revolution and freedom and making a difference instead of wasting away in syk and nuke, ending up as corpses forgotten on the backstreets- _if_ that difference could be called such when it was just killing them off even quicker by sending them on suicidal, killing sprees.

Drift glanced back away from his idol to the medic before walking subdued into one of the adjutant rooms.

"Doctor," the amiable baritone of the gladiator sent shudders through his struts when it came from directly above him. "If I am intruding on your work, do not hesitate to say. Orion and I can go."

_Orion and I._ Pah. This troublemaker hardly deserved to be so comfortable with Ratchet's friend.

"No. I will finish up my work here and join you." Ratchet had already moved to his desk; partly to begin that work again, partly to escape the looming shadow of Megatron.

The silver mech smiled at him next. He had leaned down to rest on the side of the guest counter nearest him. The casual motion made his presence slightly less threatening and slightly more companionable.

Ratchet did not trust it.

"Really, I must insist," Megatron flashed him a look at those very dentae that enthralled the thrill seekers of Cybertron. "If we- or I- are any trouble at all..."

The promise hung in the air.

A dozen painted icons over crimes, a dozen addicts fooled into what they thought was glory-

Ratchet had learned to be cynical after just one vorn working as a medic for the mechs the Golden Age tried to hide. Perhaps the millennia spent with death and broken hopes and failures was what kept him from trusting what promise the gladiator offered.

And perhaps it was just that which Megatron did to mechs like Orion Pax and Drift and so many other young fools that left him skeptical of those intentions.

* * *

It was a quiet day on Earth. The wreckers were running drills outside. Magnus was engaging in PT for his sad replacement for a working servo. June Darby had sent her flock of insecticons over so that she could go to work at Jasper's hospital without having them follow. The city was panicked enough as it was.

Normally, this mixture of loud, big, clumsy mechs would have meant Ratchet would be spending the day in irritation.

Normally, an unsummoned groundbrigded wouldn't have torn open in the base and admitted a decepticon.

Back in the height of the war, when the autobot high command were vital and well known over both armies, Ratchet had learned that he had a small bit of infamy in certain decepticon ranks. If he was a bit of a boogeyman autobot, Soundwave was a decepticon boogeyman.

The medic turned away from where he was at work and spent a valuable second gaping at the decepticon.

They-

They weren't supposed to know where the base was.

They were supposed to be on Cybertron.

Not here, with him.

Cables disentangled from where they were pooled. Electricity was ready, sparking, at the ends as they trailed over to the medic.

That was enough to finally bring him back to focus again. Ratchet transformed a servo to his short blade.

To call it a scuffle was being too generous, really. Even with aid of one of the insecticons previously recharging in the roadway (where it was far enough away from his equipment), woken by the sound of the bridge, there wasn't much defense on the autobot end of the 'fight'. The cables attached on Ratchet's chassis. He ignored what other fight was happening and focused on lifting his blade to cut through the cables. It raised halfway before his frame shut down. He was cognizant of Soundwave grabbing his falling form and moving unperturbed towards the still open vortex-

after that, he was conscious of a berth in a room too purple to be anything but decepticon.

They tried the cortical psychic patch. Megatron watched, smirking, obviously confident that his scientist would succeed in finding whatever it was they'd decided to abduct him for.

The smirk and confidence was gone after.

All that had been found was "only confirmation that the synthetic energon formula is unstable and that the autobot medic's work on it is incomplete".

Ratchet resisted making a jab on that. He needed to speak only to ensure his own death before information of value was brought forth. It would be a blow for the autobots- a final failure on his part to them, as it were- but it was better than his presence as a hostage or information pulled from Shockwave's diabolical tools leading to a death blow for Optimus and the others.

Unfortunately, the decepticons wanted to talk.

And talk they did.

The first time was in an empty interrogation room. Megatron took the lead, standing tall over the medic and speaking with his usual threatening charisma.

"You misunderstand, dearest Ratchet-" he'd acted with such faux surprise.

Ratchet hated him. The familiarity, the confidence, the _lies_.

"I intend to use your formula for the purpose of creation! not destruction. We have fortuitously discovered that your synth-en, when combined with cybernucleic acid, may in fact form the basis for an alternative cybermatter."

Lies, lies. Always with a touch of the truth.

It was what allowed this war to start, wasn't it?

Megatronus of Kaon had pointed attention at the truth of the Golden Age- that much was undebatable. But he used that truth to craft his own reality, his lies, his fictions that dragged so many in.

What good was a lie that had no inklings of reality in it?

The discovery was true. That sort of proclamation was too unexpected and specific to be made up; the fact that they'd abducted him unharmed to run the CPP proved it.

The formula discovered could be used for creation: also true. And perhaps his refined formula (though still too unstable to use in a living cybertronian) could do better than the outdated version Shockwave had on this ship. Perhaps the cybermatter created with his refinements could be stabilized; or perhaps Shockwave's expertise in combination with his own progress could allow the finalized formula to be used in any cybertronian. Perhaps...

"We stand on the verge of a great moment in time, you and I," Megatron set a servo on his own chest, looking intently at the medic below him so as to include him in the feeling of momentous occasion. "The restoration of our very homeworld."

And there was where the truth was exchanged for the warlord's own plans.

This was the very barbarian who had destroyed Cybertron in the first place.

The one who had sadistically crushed Bumblebee's voice box while never looking away.

The one who had dragged so many innocents and hopefuls into his psychotic war.

And this barbarian was the one who kept Optimus stewing in regrets and hopes for a redemption or at least truce that would never come.

But with promises like this...no wonder Optimus was still holding onto those hopes.

He said no that first time.

The second time, Ratchet was given the request while being toured personally throughout the ship. The blue mech, Dreadwing, followed behind the two of them, but Megatron had made it clear that the medic was not to be swarmed with guards.

The warlord was crafty, Ratchet would give him that. He showed off the decepticon molecular masking field and the energon transfusion capacitor.

Ratchet pulled away from his own excited interest in such hallmarks of science after indulging briefly. Impressed or not, interested or not- he couldn't be distracted from the murderer standing beside him or the inherent danger he was in (and putting the other autobots in).

No amount of scientific marvels could keep him from wanting with all his spark to see this monster go down.

"Doctor," Megatron once again tried to sound calmly appealing. "We may be mortal enemies, but autobots and decepticons do share one common goal: you would like to see the ruins of our devastated homeworld restored to their former brilliance, as would I."

And it was true.

It was, perhaps, more true for him than any of the other autobots.

Even Optimus.

Especially Optimus.

Ratchet could not condone the death of those humans he had grown so attached to. But he knew where his loyalties lay. He knew how to allow deaths that would forever weigh down his conscience in order to achieve something of greater value.

He thought of June Darby.

Of the tox-en that would have bought her safety that he had helped Wheeljack destroy.

An image of a living Cybertron remained where it was on the large screens of the warship's bridge.

"Megatron, you would just try to conquer Cybertron all over again and enslave anyone who refuses to pledge allegiance to you," he argued. His optics never left the planet on the screens.

"Of course I would!" the warlord snarled. "And your comrades would attempt to stop me as ever. But at least we would once again possess a planet worth fighting over!"

Truths and lies.

The danger and hate and murder so readily admitted to were truths.

The planet, if alive, _would_ be worth fighting over.

It was so very dangerous when the lies became harder to find. Megatron's easy admittance to his goals made him seem brutally honest; when one was brutally honest, it was hard to envision an ulterior motive at play.

Megatron thought he held all the cards. He did not find a reason to give false promises of protection or peace. He knew that Ratchet wanted the image on the screen to be a reality rather than memory.

He asked for assurances. He asked for promises and assurances for Earth, for humanity, for himself.

He received none. Megatron looked amused.

"You have none whatsoever," he said easily enough. "After all, we both know that as a decepticon, any assurances I might offer would be worthless. But that does not change the fact that you may be Cybertron's only hope of ever seeing life again."

No it did not.

They moved from the memory on the screens to the impromptu laboratory Shockwave had set up in what seemed to be the warship's medbay. The seeker stood bristled in the doorway while Ratchet was given free reign to admire the set-up.

Megatron noticed the admiration easily enough. "Should you choose to accept the task, you shall have unrestricted access to our equipment," the warlord waved over the room while Ratchet admired what apparently was the first of three quantumcryo-reducers ever created.

This was very advanced equipment. It was nothing like the scrap put together with human technology on Earth.

With this and the mind of another scientist in Shockwave, perhaps he could finish stabilizing the formula; it seemed so very likely that he could.

And with it finished, the cybermatter created could be fired from the omega lock once more.

Ratchet shook his head and verbally denied interest. The second round ended and he was still the victor, though Megatron still held every card. There was no purpose for this attempt at persuasion when the three kids in Jasper had already been threatened, when his own frame could hardly fight physical threats- no purpose other than the idea that Ratchet would comply with less sabotage if it was out of his own will and the glee Megatron seemed to take in attempting to win him over.

The third time, Ratchet was shown the new omega lock itself.

"How will we know for certain, doctor, if we do not _try_?" Megatron unlocked the door and spread wide the view of the device which could bring life back to his- to their- planet. "And how can we not try when the means finally lay within our reach?"

It was a question of scientific curiosity and the ethics of hesitation.

It was the very question a medic like himself thought.

He struggled to think of a suitable snub and found none. This time, he could not act disinterested or unawed.

"By the Allspark..." Ratchet took a few steps forward. His unrestrained servos twitched as though they could reach out and take the lock itself. Unrestrained, because he posed no threat. Unrestrained, because the barbarian knew he would cave without ever needing to point a gun to his head. "...you've actually done it!"

"Decepticon engineering," Megatron smirked, either at his unhidden enthusiasm or in pride. "It will not take long for this omega lock's drives to be fully operational. All that is still needed to restore our home is the cybermatter to launch through it."

Of course. Oh, of course.

"Which requires a stabilized formula for the production of synthetic energon," the medic breathed out.

The restoration of Cybertron was within his reach.

His reach this time, rather than Optimus's.

Optimus had cut through the old lock with his star saber.

Ratchet could undo what harm that had done.

He _could_. No, he hadn't fully stabilized the synth-en, but he had made great progress; with a mind like Shockwave's aiding him, he was certain he could finish. He was confident he could. He was not alone in the emotion.

"I have every confidence in you, doctor," the warlord leaned down near him and spoke smoothly.

It was game over- match set, cards reshuffled, victor determined.

Ratchet had resisted the first two attempts at persuasion, but...

He grit his jaw.

Agreeing to help this monster hurt every part of his spark.

Turning away from Cybertron's need hurt more.

"I'll do it."

He glared at the warlord where he was leaning so personably nearby.

"But then you already knew that, didn't you?"

And Megatron did nothing to hide his darkly amused smirk behind a more affable lie.

* * *

They flew away from the main atmosphere of Earth with their measly prizes stuffed in Starscream's cockpit. The request for a spacebridge was sent as soon as they had finished their call with the warship.

Megatron was too busy to allow Soundwave to remotely access the spacebridge and bring the two back.

With the self-proclaimed Predaking's surprise, they had needed to deal with the predacon clones.

With the clones dealt with and Megatron already preoccupied in trying to find a suitable way to hide the deaths from the still living predacon, Shockwave had bridged to the _Nemesis_ and decided to throw another set of problems at him.

With that new issue, the focus had moved to abducting the autobot medic and bringing him aboard.

It was only after this was all finished that Megatron allowed the Earthbound team the spacebridge they had asked for jours before.

Unsurprisingly, Starscream was rather angry upon the wait. Once informed of the reasons, he no doubt would relax; it was little secret that the seeker disliked the danger presented by the one singular beast.

That beast wasted little time in finding him. Predaking rode up the lift to the bridge in his new alternative form and bowed fervently when the warlord turned to him.

"Lord Megatron," he greeted reverently. "My mission on Earth was a success. The new CNA can be delivered straight to Shockwave's laboratory where my brethren grow now."

Oh, but they did not.

"No need," Megatron waved him off. "You will not have time to make such a trip when I will be assigning you duty so soon. I will order Starscream to deliver the supplies, but Shockwave is currently onboard the warship rather than at that facility."

It was evident that hearing such took the predacon by surprise.

"My liege?"

A question, though without words. It was respectful in a manner so many good decepticons had never been.

"Your brethren are germinating in their final stages right now," Megatron reassured. "We should have every faith in Shockwave finishing within the orn. But staying to watch this process is hardly necessary; he has moved on to the restoration of the omega lock and our shared homeworld."

"But-"

The predacon growled a moment before composing himself. "But why split attention? Why would you authorize him to leave the lab?"

Because the lab was currently full of reprocessing bodies and that hardly needed Shockwave's attention.

"In this stage of development, your fellow predacons do not need supervision nor can they be rushed from their tanks," Megatron said smoothly. "As such, Shockwave is temporarily redirecting his efforts towards the restoration of our homeworld. Surely you wish to once again reign over your mighty race on a living planet."

The look in the other's optics could almost be called dreamy.

"A...wise...course of action," Predaking granted hesitantly. It was obvious his priorities lay with the laboratory over the omega lock.

"Shockwave thought so too," the warlord reassured.

It was also obvious the clone admired his creator. Chances were high that admiration was built on the logical intelligence so typical of the scientist- and, if so, then whatever Shockwave chose as his course of action was easily read as the most rational action to be made.

"If there is truly nothing more to be done at this time," the predacon continued with the same painful hesitance.

Megatron inclined his head at the monster. "Rushing the process is more likely to impede with the _safe_ sparking of your brethren."

And with that, Predaking backed away from the issue.

It was so easy to fool even the most ancient of creatures. From predacons to Unicron to the mighty Primes- they were all haughty fools begging to be made humble upon realizing how they'd been tricked by a mere warrior's words.

"As we are forced to wait for their own growth to finish, it is paramount to enact a strong front against the enemy," he directed the predacon. "Shockwave will battle in the lab, but _you_-"

It was pointed.

It succeeded.

Predaking inclined in a slight bow.

"-I will hunt down the Prime and his ilk," the clone swore. "And I will burn whatever hole they have crawled into this time to soot."

There was an impressive air to his promises and prose on violence.

It spelled untapped danger. How long ago had it been since he was the one who felt secure serving others, his crafted prose unbefitting of his brutish demeanor and position in slavery, and how he sought for an army before fully realizing that he was?

"See that you do," Megatron replied.

For there would be only victory if the predacon did find the autobots now.

On one side, the autobots could be annihilated. The remaining threat could surely be disposed of with the _Nemesis_'s weapons.

On the other, the autobots could dispose of that threat for him.

There were threats on all sides, but all Megatron saw was victory.

* * *

Starscream waited outside the bridge for the predacon to finish his audience with their 'one true master'.

It took far too long. Evidently, both blowhards were trying to expand on their pride and prose in competition with the other.

How delightful. The seeker scoffed although no one heard it.

Finally, the doors slid aside and the predacon stomped out. He paused after the doors had shut once more, focusing on the waiting seeker.

"You will support my cause for him?" he growled.

Starscream sneered. "As long as you didn't share anything."

Both shared what seemed to be mutual distaste in their shared favors.

"I did not," Predaking broke the silence.

He moved forward to go and then drew up to a sudden halt once again. Those yellow optics landed back on the seeker.

"When you did not think I comprehended your words, were you honest?"

That wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting.

"When you said such things on our master, were they truth?" Predaking continued.

Aw. How cute. He was already starting to wonder if Megatron was the unquestionable hero Shockwave made him out to be.

"I said nothing on Earth," Starscream said.

There was a brief confusion before the predacon's expression hardened.

"You are to deliver the bones of my ancestors to Shockwave where he is on this ship. I will not keep you."

The giant stormed away and Starscream felt his struts sink in the released tension. After a moment spent simply venting and recuperating, he entered the bridge.

Megatron was there alongside Soundwave and Dreadwing. Lovely. So they would have to hear his little forced spiel on loyalty?

Better to get it over with fast then.

"Did the predacon further discuss control over the other clones with you?" he asked.

The warlord seemed uninterested in the question.

"It came up," was the dry reply.

Wonderful- there was the opening for this unpleasant task then.

"My lord," Starscream began by sliding closer. "I- having worked alongside him on Earth- feel the need to plead our predacon's case over the lead of his fellow clones."

Lying came easy.

Lying forced by another had the habit of choking its way out; it was both unpleasant in sensation and how obviously false it was.

That was not to say he hadn't had enough practice at that to make it into a virtual art.

"While every effort must be taken to keep ideas of rebellion and usurpation from occurring, I believe Predaking truly hopes to lead his fellows only for your glory," he continued to weave fabrications. "Surely you can keep his, ah, ambitions in line and utilize his strengths for the decepticon cause."

Despite any previous expectations, Megatron laughed. The mirth was short lived and cut down into a smirk directed at his second.

It wasn't threatening and that made it all the more dangerous: it was familiar, it was inviting, it spoke of a long-shared past and blinded from the fact that they were no longer the companionable allies they had at one time been.

"Oh?" the warlord hummed casually.

Just as casually as the shared mirth, the hints of inside jokes, of their way with words that only truly arose with each other.

"Is this your honest advice on the matter?"

And it said, beneath the veneer, that Megatron knew him too well:

he'd seen the lie.

That, or something else Starscream wasn't privy to made this humorous.

He did not like being kept in the dark. It made his mood pivot downward.

"Yes," he lied carefully. "Whether you accept it or not, I want to give my formal suggestion that you take Predaking's offer and give him the officer position over the other clones."

There was that smirk again- flashing, dangerous, so very inviting.

"Oh, but Starscream-" Megatron shook his head, the grin downright murderous. "-that may be difficult seeing as those clones are no longer functional."

Once that began to sink in, the seeker warred with a few major reactions.

Predaking was going to be frightful when he found out. That light excuse for blackmail wouldn't look nearly as important.

More importantly, there would be no others like him. Megatron had finally seen the error in Shockwave's beast machine army.

And Starscream so appreciated when the warlord actually saw things his way.


	79. Hauntings

His recharge lasted briefly. XL-2M99 was brought out by a comm. The drone sat up on his berth and asked the speaker to repeat himself.

_«Shockwave is in your laboratory»_ the decepticon 2IC repeated for him. _«He has been moving his equipment in for the last jour and is now ready to begin his project.»_

What?

In his lab? Why not one of the labs on the planet's surface where he'd been trying to grow more of those extinct monsters?

_«Shockwave is...»_

His confusion was evident, even if he had trailed off before finishing his question.

_«He requested you still come in for your shift when I left»_ Dreadwing added. _«From what I gleaned, he wishes you to provide assistant help in whatever task they are working on.»_

They?

XL-2M99 shook his confusion off and rose from the berth. His quarters were stationed adjutant to the medbay and as such he could enter either directly or from the hall.

For some reason, he went to the hall first. A part of him had some notion that Dreadwing would be outside and willing to clear up this strange situation for him. There was no mech in the hall.

There were, however, voices. A bit too faint to hear, but both sounded rather calm. They quieted down to silence again naturally; evidently, a short conversation had arisen and dwindled away.

They were coming from the medbay's direction.

Curious but cautious, XL-2M99 entered the hallway and crept down to the official medbay entrance.

It was closed. He never closed it anymore. Not after that incident with the humans and the wrecker and the heated weapon in his servo-

So others had gone in and shut the door behind them?

Strange. XL-2M99 tried to straighten up; he may be a drone, but he was still to be treated as the interim medic of this army. He should show no hesitance in entering his own domain, even if it had been hijacked by Shockwave.

The vehicon keyed the door open and saw that the side door to the laboratory had been opened. That one he commonly kept shut. He was no scientist; there was no reason for that access to be open to him constantly.

He returned to his previous confidence and took a single step into that side room.

All further ones cut to a short stop.

His frame locked up in place, in shock, in the lack of preparation-

Both of the forged mech in the room spared him a glance. Shockwave moved right back to his own work with hardly more than just that.

The red and white autobot kept answering the scientists prompts, but he hadn't looked away. His optics traced visibly to the marred side of XL-2M99's face. There was no obvious recognition there yet.

But XL-2M99 recognized _him._ He'd seen him time enough when staring at burn wounds, when using a welder, when seeing anything _melt_.

It was the autobot medic.

* * *

Having access to a groundbridge was a vital part of functioning on Earth. After Cliffjumper, one autobot had been assigned to groundbridge duty at all times. When Cliffjumper had engaged his last enemy squadron, the rest of the team had been patrolling different sectors: every one of them. There was no one to groundbridge each autobot back immediately from their different corners of the world and no one to groundbridge allies to where Cliffjumper fought a losing battle.

After Raf learned the workings of the groundbridge, the team could once again leave the base without a cybertronian inside; Raf would control transportation and emergency evacs when he was there and the others were not.

Having access to a spacebridge was an even more vital advantage once the war began to span two planets. Ratchet had remained dutifully on Earth with control over this newly forged asset. He was able to evacuate teams from danger on Cybertron and then rebridge them from Earth to a safer location on the homeworld. He was able to bring teams through to deal with problems like the rogue insecticon attacks and the predacon.

After he was stolen away, the team felt grateful that the basic mechanics of this specific spacebridge's controls were similar enough to the old groundbridge.

Raf could operate it just the same. And, with only the wreckers left behind to struggle over planning and communication and just trying to understand what the frag had happened, it fell on Raf to unite the team.

All of them this time.

Every member of Team Prime knew how valuable Ratchet was to them; they needed desperately to provide a unified stratagem for this latest turn in the war.

And doing such unified, effective strategizing was difficult when the team was scattered between two planets.

* * *

It was June who reached out to Raf.

It was Scalewing who had given her the abridged version of the emergency.

It was the wreckers who greeted all five humans when they had rushed to the base in the wake of that emergency.

Raf took the disappearance the hardest. He was snappish while he worked; all he could do was reunite the team and it wore down on him. He wished he could do more for Ratchet.

The insecticon who had witnessed the proceedings had surprisingly few injuries. A dent on the back of his head where he'd been slammed to the ground, but that was it. Wheeljack looked at that minor wound and frowned.

This was the second time he'd seen Soundwave's work leaving his target alive and it left him no less confused.

Every autobot on Cybertron moved back to the familiar autobot outpost on Earth. They either buzzed with anger or worry. There hadn't been any call making demands in exchange for Ratchet's safety.

Chances were most high that the medic was taken to the _Nemesis_ or one of Shockwave's laboratories. So long as the _Nemesis_ was hovering over the former omega lock, it would not be difficult to find its location. Getting aboard was another matter.

Ultra Magnus listened to the lashing out and the despair and looked at the servo that Ratchet had tried to repair.

Seeing it for the first time had fatigued him. But it was the medic who seemed to treat the replacement as an even larger disappointment than the commander saw his injury itself as.

"Ratchet didn't think this new hand he built me was good enough," he spoke up. The rest of the team (both human and cybertronian) ceased their arguing to look at him. "But I tell you what's truly not good enough: giving up."

Not just because the code demanded they attempt action; Ratchet was the backbone of the autobot cause. He and the rest of the now-scattered high command always had been. He was valuable; he left people behind that cared about him greatly.

Ultra Magnus would not stand back and let him die.

"We have no choice but to play this old school. Split into teams for maximum coverage," the commander stood up from where he had been seated. He looked over the others.

For once, they were all at attention.

They were a unit; they were a team.

From where he'd been leaning against the wall, Wheeljack looked up from the ground and met his optics.

"Then let's do it," the wrecker agreed. "For the doc."

* * *

There were no autobot fields on Cybertron.

Predaking felt relief at that. He understood that, had they been present, his priorities would need to lay with hunting the autobots down.

If they were not on the planet...

He swooped over the area most thick with the autobot stench. No activity below swelled up at his presence. The predacon transformed and landed. It would be easier to investigate onpede.

There was definitive autobot presence here at one point. It was recent, at that. Less than a cycle old.

The remaining taints were thick with worry, guilt, failure. Predaking narrowed his optics. Quite curious, that.

Their fields weren't just confined to this little underground burrow. He could sense their trails over Cybertron. But he could not sense them in any specific location.

They were gone.

And if he could not track them, then he hardly needed to waste more time on this fool's errand.

He _could_ return to the warship.

He could also go to Shockwave's laboratory and see his brethren in person.

Seeing them on the viewscreen had already been so wonderful. Being able to stand beside their tanks and feel their fields wrapping around his own-

Whether or not they were ready to be born, they were grown enough for their own fields to be present. He would be able to see them, feel them, perhaps remember them-

The decision was made. Surely Megatron would understand: there were no autobots to hunt and he would be no obstacle to the clones growth if he were to merely visit the lab where Shockwave had left them.

Predaking walked back to the surface and felt himself constrict, elongate, return to the form of the golden warrior. His wings tore open and beat into the dead air.

* * *

The medbay was as spacious as one should be. It certainly was more equipped than his makeshift one on Earth.

All things considered, the company inside wasn't all that bad either.

The sheer amount of atrocities left behind the mech or not, there was no denying his constant scientific motivation.

There were many reasons to work slowly. The longer he stalled, the more time he bought for Optimus. For everyone. Most likely for humanity.

And the more time he wasted for Cybertron.

The medbay was two part: in one section lay the more typical medical room and in the other was the two-level laboratory.

Most likely, it hadn't been used since Knock Out had defected. During their occasional 'training' sessions, Ratchet had managed to piece together a vague idea of what the other medic's former workspace looked like.

Whoever was using it now kept things very clean. When Ratchet had been brought into the lab through the medbay, the only vaguely personable space he'd seen was the desk pushed to the side with its organic plants and stacked datapads. He imagined Knock Out had kept far more cosmetics and mirrors around.

But while there were signs of use in the medbay itself, the lab seemed untouched by all except Shockwave and himself. The decepticon had given him a brief look around the setup to situate himself to it. Now, the autobot was on the upper level measuring samples of CNA without outright supervision or threat.

The task was interrupted when the decepticon returned to his side. Shockwave set a chunk of silver down in front of where Ratchet was measuring. The medic brought his attention from the CNA in his servos to the wild mess before him.

Cybermatter.

"So-" he leaned down to look over the pure- if unstable- sample. "-we know this cybermatter to be produced by an atypical molecular displacement reaction?"

Shockwave's answer was direct. "Extensive empirical evidence indicates the fundamental instability within the synth-en formulation to be the cause."

Ratchet straightened up from where he had been closely examining the cybermatter.

"Double blind analysis?" he glanced at the other.

Shockwave tilted his head.

"Naturally." The scientists face- if it could be called that- straightened once more to meet his stare. "The results only confirmed my original hypothesis: once the erroneous variable has been corrected for, the stabilized synthetic material will bind properly with cybernucleic acid."

The doctor turned briefly to look at the cybermatter once more. "And produce a stable form of cybermatter..." he shook his head in disbelief, facing Shockwave once more. "-remarkable."

"Yes," the decepticon gestured with an open servo. "Quite an act of providence."

Despite his size, the step Shockwave took towards him was small rather than crowding. He lifted that servo again and let it rest briefly on Ratchet's shoulder pauldron.

"There is much to do and little time, doctor. Shall we get back to work?"

Of course.

For a moment, he had let himself forget _where_ he was.

The fledgling good mood slid away with the reminder of reality.

"Certainly," Ratchet moved back to his previous task.

"I have called for the current medical officer to assist you in whatever you may need," Shockwave droned from behind him.

In other words, another decepticon to hover over him and prevent thoughts of sabotage.

He made a noise of understanding and continued organizing his samples of CNA.

Less than a breem later, the medbay doors slid open. Ratchet looked over his shoulder to see which officer had been called in to replace Knock Out and his partner.

It wasn't an officer. Or not one of the ones from the decepticon manifests he could recognize.

The officer was a vehicon.

One that had frozen into place.

There was a weld blocking the typical double stripe optic of miner builds.

He thought of Bulkhead returning from a scouting trip with one optic slagged.

There was an irony to it, really. It was synthetic energon he'd been captured to work on. It was his original work on synthetic energon that had clouded his common sense and drove him to the battlefield _that cycle_; drove him to a rookie rush in the deluded confidence that he could drag answers Optimus was scared to find from one of the many decepticon clones; an attempt that later drove Bulkhead to his medbay with a grudge injury meant for Ratchet.

It came back to his experiments with synthetic energon.

It came back to _him_

because he was the one who'd conducted experiments he should've known better than to try. He was the one who should know better than to conduct them again for Megatron's benefit.

He should have known better at many points in his life- should have known better, done better, made less mistakes, left behind less failures that others like Bumblebee had to pay for.

Every time he messed up, someone better paid for it.

Every damned time.

The vehicon in the door still hadn't unfrozen. Normally, Ratchet wouldn't have given that a second thought. The faceless soldiers of the decepticon army were faceless for a reason; they weren't meant to elicit curiosity or sympathy or regrets.

But this was more than just another faceless soldier.

This was one of his failures, one of those mistakes he'd made that led to Bulkhead getting injured in Ratchet's stead.

Another mistake- chemically induced or not- he'd never managed to forget. Another failure on the part of his judgement.

A monument to stand so obviously tensed up in front of him.

Continuing to experiment on synthetic energon lost what personal appeal it had left.

He brought himself back to his work, though: Cybertron hung in the balance.

Cybertron was bigger than just one bot and the many regrets that bot left behind.

* * *

He knew the location of many of Shockwave's laboratories. The scientist had taken him to multiple during their stay alone on Cybertron.

Then, his life was only movement and laying down unobtrusively while Shockwave worked and grasping onto the flashes of disorienting memory that arose.

It was a simpler life yet so much more unclear.

Only a few of those laboratories had been equipped with cloning technology.

Only one was in close distance to the ruins of the omega lock where the decepticons held the land. It stood to reason that this laboratory was the likeliest option.

The predacon flew down to the cave entrance with only slight trepidation. A part of him expected decepticon troopers to await and send him off. Predaking had his reasoning for not continuing a futile search for autobots that were not currently on the world, but had still heard Megatron give him his orders: those orders had seemed to request he stay away from the cloning facility.

But surely that had only been so that he would not allow his brethren to distract his hunt for the autobots!

Whether he knew it or not, Shockwave had always taught him through modeling to be rational. Predaking found his argument for his presence at the laboratory rational enough.

It did not matter. No guard rose to meet him.

No guard came at all. Not even when he had transformed and walked into the quiet cave where the laboratory lay.

If not for the stench of fields so conglomerated in these halls, he would not think that he was in the right location at all. But there were other predacons here. Their fields were not pulsing or active, but he could feel their recent presence. There were many cybertronians as well. Predaking could sense the high command of the decepticons stronger the closer he came to where he remembered the halls would widen out into- into a-

They widened into a single room.

On the screen, he had seen this room full of cloning tanks and the predacons within.

There were no tanks lit brightly and in rows here. He could see their glass shapes laying on the ground along the wall to his left.

There was no light, no movement, **no life**

No life at all

The fields in the air were stagnant. They were recently active, but they were posthumous, history; they were like the fields of those predacons he'd taken the bones from on Earth: lives present in traces of fields but past.

There was fear, confusion, fear again winding through each of these stagnant fields. The traces left by the decepticons shared none of those emotions.

The only physical presence of the others he could find were the cubes full of matter stacked near the offline tanks. Matter. They were but featureless, lifeless, piles of matter now. No better off than those who the bones he'd found before belonged to. Predaking understood with slowly creeping denial what this meant.

His brothers were dead again before they'd ever gotten their chance to truly live.

And he knew who was responsible.

The predacon collapsed onto a servo; his arm had caught the fall and kept him stable. All around him swarmed death, constricting death, extinction, _betrayal_

Betrayal of a kind he could not fathom but for the aching pain inside grieving the loss of his only true kind.

Predaking roared and the sound mixed with the overwhelming sensations all around.

They would pay.

They would pay, they would, they would and he would make them.

The other clones had been everything. They had been his past as a great warrior, they had been his hopeful future. He roared again and forced himself out of the room. There was no functioning when surrounded by such tragedy. There would be no vengeance if he had stayed still either.

By the time he had stormed out onto the planet's surface once more, Predaking had already begun to plot his revenge. His instincts were to attack now with all his strength- but doing so could lead in his own destruction before he had managed to tear Megatron apart. If it was Starscream in this situation, then he would be patient. He would wait for an opportunity to strike at all those (and his rants had showcased _many_) he disliked. Predaking would be able to contain himself for a better chance at the army who had done this atrocity to his brethren.

_«This is Predaking»_ he called the _Nemesis_ transport room. It was a room he had only used with others. His form hardly needed such when he was capable of the speeds he was. _«I request a groundbridge»_

It arrived only moments later.

The predacon clenched one fist so tight it whined and stiffly walked through the glowing vortex to the accursed warship beyond.


	80. Don't Touch Me

"Bumblebee."

The scout straightened up to full attention.

"You and Knock Out will approach the _Nemesis_. Prepare to board and search for Ratchet when I disable the warship."

The two teammates cast a glance at each other.

They knew how to work together.

"Arcee."

The second autobot scout was already at attention.

"You and Breakdown will travel to do the same: head close from the southeast while the other two approach from the southwest."

That duo didn't share any sort of glance at the other.

They had their jobs and they'd do them.

"Bulkhead."

The last of the originals. Ratchet was among that original crew as well, but with him missing...

"Partner with Wheeljack and investigate the labs of Cybertron for Ratchet. Knock Out will provide locations."

It was that same defector who had recommended those searches.

Sure, Ratchet had gotten taken to the _Nemesis_ last time, but they'd all been on Earth then. Who knew if Shockwave would see the warship as a more logical place for his captive than one of his more advanced laboratories?

"Smokescreen, you will go with Ultra Magnus."

The rookie looked at his fellow elite guardsmech with barely contained excitement. It was a relief to all that he did not begin to gush right then and there over the commander.

"Scout out the lab where the predacon clones were being created; look for any information that can be scoured on the plans of the decepticons and their abduction of Ratchet."

And finally it was just the Prime. He lifted the star saber slowly before bowing his head and sheathing the superweapon behind him.

"I will do what I should have done long ago." Optimus dimmed his optics solemnly. "What Ratchet has long told me to do. From my position, I will strike at the warship; should our old friend be aboard, we will chance that he not be hit by my strike. And should he...I pray for his forgiveness, but believe it is what he would prefer."

Only time would tell if the conviction would play through.

Too often it did not.

"Rafael. Do you have the coordinates for all five teams?"

The human on the catwalk nodded. Spacebridge control for this mission lay in his hands alone.

The Prime stepped closer to look down gently on the stressed child.

"Whatever the outcome, know that Ratchet would be most proud of your contribution," Optimus said to the youngest of the humans.

Raf smiled.

And the spacebridge for the first team tore to life.

With weapons from the _Iron Will_ in servo, the autobots prepared to roll out.

* * *

There was no immediate confrontation. XL-2M99 neither fled out the door nor found the nearest scalpel to bury into the autobot. Movement was a task too difficult to be undertaken right then.

Vents were clamped shut. He was overheating. The noise rose to a barely audible whine. The autobot looked away from his work to eye the culprit noise.

_Look away. Turn around, fragger. Please turn around._

His primarily energon pump was roiling. The energon was rushed straight to its next paths without filtering. It felt abrasive in his veins. He could not get it to calm.

The autobot had opened his mouth and shut it again, turning back to his work. For a relieving amount of time, nothing was said.

As relieving as this could be, that was. The medic was in his workspace and he could neither run (not when Shockwave ordered him here) or attempt to kill the one responsible for the scar on his face and all those left unseen (not when Shockwave wanted _him_ here). In the limbo between, there was nothing good. Avoiding the optics, the voice, the proximity of_ that mech_ was the best it could get.

_That mech_ did not allow the situation to remain on that precarious edge of relief.

"Fetch me the quantumcyber-measure," the autobot said.

XL-2M99 did not move.

Fetching anything meant taking it closer to the autobot medic.

And that was something he hardly wanted to do.

Shockwave stepped towards the ramp leading to the lower level and brought the vehicon out from his reverie.

"Attend to the needs of our esteemed guest," the officer ordered.

No.

_Please. Don't make me._

No no no

_I don't want to get near **him**_

The vehicon stiffly made for the cabinet he thought the measure was in (he couldn't be sure, this wasn't his lab, he'd never played a role here).

After finding it came the task even harder than turning his back on the autobot had been: approaching.

XL-2M99 forced his joints to work, to move, to do anything that would make him useful in the presence of Shockwave.

The autobot waited for him.

He just stood there and waited for him to bring the quantomcyber-measure over.

The device was held out by a shaking arm. As soon as the forged mech had touched it, XL-2M99 recoiled away as though burned.

Burned, hah. Amusing.

He was going to crash. System alerts, overheating, oh Primus not in front of Shockwave.

The autobot kept the device in his hold, but his optics were on the retreating vehicon.

"Thank you-" the voice that should have been cocky, confident, almost affable like it had that time was just too soft.

It did nothing to help him. If anything, it sent XL-2M99 reeling back to the farthest wall that he could stand protected against.

He wondered if he could call Dreadwing. If the seeker could barge in, kill the autobot, return his workspace to the brief peace it had been during the time since his _interrogation_.

But no: not if this was Shockwave's doing. Shockwave got what he wanted. XL-2M99 needed to make sure that Shockwave wanted him alive.

The autobot was casting him glances while he worked. It could have reduced the drone into a mess on the floor.

"I require a fresh CNA sample," Shockwave called from the level below.

The vehicon jolted and moved automatically to do its creator's bidding.

Useful, see?

At least he did not shake when presenting the decepticon scientist with a canister of CNA. At least there was a comfort in the familiar that was the inventor of his kind. Shockwave took the requested tool and continued work with hardly a motion of acknowledgement. From him, it meant that his assistor had done well. Shockwave only acknowledged mistakes or stupidity. There was little desire to receive such notice.

And yet that seemed like a preferable scenario to the one awaiting him when he returned to the upper floor. There, he returned to overheating. He returned to the burn in his veins and at his vents and on the face of his memories. His frame burned inside and out. It had not done so since the cycle with the wrecker- and not even that left him shaking as he wished he could now.

Time crawled. XL-2M99 ran between tasks and retreated to the wall after each one. The temptation to comm for backup sickened him. The reaction he could imagine from said backup was responsible for most of that repulsion. Dreadwing would react with violence at the thought that he was distressed; XL-2M99 believed that based on prior reactions of the seeker during his attempts to find the vehicons stolen by humans. When he reacted that way, it felt both undeserved and worrying.

Undeserving, because XL-2M99 was not what Dreadwing saw him as.

Worrying, because doing something stupid as an officer could mean a _demotion_.

XL-2M99 did not want to think of Dreadwing being _demoted_. The seeker had become too important to let die a stupid death by his own allies servos.

_«Shockwave»_ Megatron's voice called over the lab's commline. The surprise of the noise made the vehicon jolt. This interruption brought him to the present once more.

_«Assembly of the omega lock is entering the final stage. Your guidance is required.»_

The scientist looked up at the speaker. "Understood, my liege."

He left his CNA samples behind and returned to the upper level to leave. Shockwave paused at the door. "XL. Supervise our guest in my absence."

There was a horrid still when he was gone.

Much as XL-2M99 feared Shockwave, he had been the only cushion in this room between himself and _him_.

Speaking of-

There was pedefall near him. The autobot that he was supposed to be 'supervising' had come to his side and was looking at the welds he'd made so necessary.

"Is that..."

There was a strangled sentence there too mangled to decipher.

"You're the vehicon that melted Bulkhead's optic, aren't you?"

_Melted_

_Get melted, wheelgrinder!_

Melted, melted, why that word? why that image? why that burn across his face, refelt, repeated, remembered-

The nightmare moved closer still.

Too close.

Sharing a room was too close already.

They were too near physical contact now; he could be shoved down, a body's weight on his chassis keeping him locked to the ground like it had before so that the welder could fall and he could do nothing to writhe away-

"Don't touch me, autobot," he said without thinking.

It seemed to be answer enough.

The autobot fell silent, looking down at the floor. Why, XL-2M99 did not know. Why he was here at all was beyond his understanding.

"It's repaired now."

Why did he think XL-2M99 cared to hear it? To rub in his own ruined vision? What for?

"It was a feasible repair," the forged continued. "I...your own is feasible as well."

The vehicon jolted.

"W-what?" he croaked out before he could stop himself.

This wasn't what this autobot was meant to say.

This sickening attempt at- what? kindness?- only made his tanks roil worse. Pretending to be a soft autobot now did nothing to what he had lived through personally.

It was only confusing. If it was regret, he wanted none of it. He wanted no violence either, but that would make sense. This attempt at fitting into the autobot cliche was revolting. It did not belong with everything he'd somehow survived.

"Proper medical care could give you full vision," the autobot said softly and that softness made XL-2M99 wish to rip out his audials. "Shockwave could do it. Just let me make the schemati-"

He reached out for the drone while speaking. It wasn't hostile. It was absent, a movement made while the medic thought over the most likely schematics for his frame.

It made his spark stall in panic.

"Don't touch me!" XL-2M99 jerked away from the approaching servo and cursed at the frantic sound of his own voice. He shouldn't have given fear away. The autobot would leap on that.

Like he had leapt on the single word melted when he'd been a miner just trying to face down certain death with defiance. Like he had-like he had-

The autobot reared back as if slapped.

Good. XL-2M99 couldn't understand the reaction, but it did not change his response to it. Good, good-

He used the distraction to move for the other side of the room. The autobot dropped his arm and returned to his station in complete silence.

Good. The sooner this was done, the sooner XL-2M99 could run from this room and barricade himself in his quarters until he could stop from shaking.

* * *

_"Do you think Ratch is on the ship?"_

The question shook Knock Out from whatever reverie he'd been in (re: trying to guess what Breakdown and Arcee would talk about while he was gone [him, perhaps? or maybe it was enough to just think of his two favorite bots getting along]). No doubt from the outside, he looked quite serious.

Well, he was. Preoccupation aside, of course he was worried too.

But Ratchet had been just fine last time. Knock Out felt fairly confident he'd be fine this time too. Up until Ratchet would try to destroy the formula, the worst he probably was dealing with was being subjected to Shockwave's hilariously awful form of flirting (or whatever that was that Knock Out had been subjected to watching occuring in real time when he'd been demoted to their gopher) again.

Maybe he should be more concerned. But it just didn't seem to be coming.

"I think he may be," Knock Out shrugged. Honestly, he wasn't sure. There was nothing suggesting Shockwave was building the omega lock on the _Nemesis_ again when he had so many planetside labs. "If he is, then your human will be bringing the rest of the team over to help us."

Bumblebee didn't react much to the way he'd referred to Raf.

"_Alright_..." he whirred.

The others didn't have the inside confidence he did about the state of their medic.

Believe it or not, Knock Out would've been incredibly concerned if he registered Ratchet as in danger. The old doctor was worrisome enough left to his own depressed devices.

He just couldn't register the other being in danger at the moment. Maybe when Optimus did disable the _Nemesis_, he'd start to panic over the possibility that the other was caught in the strike- ...maybe. Probably not. It was just rather difficult to assume someone important would die. Breakdown had been a startling exception. But with his last timeline overlaying with this, he just didn't think Ratchet was in danger.

"So how about this plan?" Knock Out stretched overhead while they staked out the cybertronian surface south of where the warship hovered in place.

"_What?_" the scout glanced over at him from where he was peeking over their cover to scan for the best opening.

"Optimus's plan," the medic elaborated. "Do you think he'll take the ship down for good this time?"

The other seemed to think about that.

"_I would think so_," he said. "_Why wouldn't he?_"

Hmm, how about the fact that there had been some perfect opportunities that went untaken?

"He says that his whole goal of killing Megatron is a new thing," Knock Out shared the information Optimus had told him privately without noticing. "And knocking the ship out of the sky could very well do the trick."

Bumblebee flinched at something he said before responding.

"_Well...they were friends before,_" the scout responded slowly. "_I mean, if one of you guys started a war, I'd still have trouble killing you. I think. But that was a long time ago. Optimus is going to do it_."

Heh, funny that- at least, when he considered how (who to) Megatron had died in his last time...line...

wait.

Wait.

Knock Out looked at Bumblebee until the other started to shift uncomfortably under his silent attention.

He thought of all that he learned of Optimus after the war had ended (and it had been quite a bit; he'd gone searching for anything and everything that would tell him about the mech who had started a long train of change for himself). Of Optimus Prime and Orion Pax and of convictions that never panned out.

And, for the first time, Knock Out realized how important it was that a mech like Bumblebee should be near Optimus's side whenever that final showdown happened.

* * *

The layout of the ship had been inside the database. Predaking remembered it, just as he remembered everything in the database.

At the least, the layout provided was not a lie; much of that within those files seemed to be.

It was disgusting that he had fallen for it all.

_Decept_icons, were they not? How had he ever believed that their databases could be anything but deception?

The stories of histories, of wrongs righted, of righteous battle-

The smooth words of a warlord that he would have sworn honest loyalty to-

LIES. All of them. All promises of safety and brothers and-

Predaking clenched both fists and let the wave of anger roll through and out. He could not act yet. He must be constrained.

The giant resumed walking once his temper had shimmered down to where he was allowing it to boil.

The layout of the ship said which hallways would lead to the main engine room of this ship from the groundbridge station.

It did not lie.

The chamber lay before him. Two vehicons stood outside it, exchanging expressionless looks before pointing their weapons at him in warning.

"Hey," one said. "No bots allowed down here without authorization."

The predacon looked down at mechs that barely reached above the height of his knee.

Anxiety morphed to unadulterated fear.

Like the fear of his brethren left behind to cry out even after their deaths.

His fists spasmed and clutched again.

"Sorry," the other vehicon shrugged in a stiff attempt to hide the terror seeping around him. "Move along now."

Predaking let his field consume the fear seeping around him. It would consume far more before this cycle would be over.

The energon of his race stained Megatron's claws.

The energon of the decepticons would stain his own.

With a snarl, he let his servos unclenched for the first time since attempting his charade of calm to approach this room. They shot forward through the guards and shoved their bodies up into the ceiling. One dropped loose by the time he had ripped the door away. It clattered to the ground behind him but Predaking paid it no heed.

He stood unhindered in front of the mechanisms that kept this ship afloat in the skies.

And, unhindered, he would ground this monument of deception forever.


	81. Abductions: Part II

The spacebridge deposited Optimus on a plateau looking over the Sea of Rust.

And, as they had hoped, the decepticon warship remained where it had been stationed over the Sea of Rust. A parasite hovering over the lifegiver that had once been the omega lock- ready and waiting to steal its properties again.

For some time, Optimus just looked over the _Nemesis_. He watched the ship and scanned for a target.

The goal was to disable the ship: to send it to the ground where his team could climb aboard.

And yes, he did hope to keep it grounded for some time. He knew that, if Ratchet were there to be extracted at all, he should remain outside to strike it again. Once before, he had the opportunity to permanently destroy this asset of the decepticon war machine and had not done so. Ratchet would not want him to again.

A part of him argued that doing so would disable the one machine capable of flight that could carry the omega lock (after he used the forge to repair it) to the Well. He was unsure whether this argument existed for its own sake or if he was trying to justify reasons for keeping the army inside it alive.

Optimus told himself that he would not. Not this time. This time, he would act as Ratchet had long advised him to.

Yet he scanned for a target in the hopes of finding a place that would be the most uninhabited; one that would still ground the ship but with minimal casualties.

The bridge would be avoided then. While it seemed likely that carving through the bridge could kill all those officers therein, that area of the ship was too occupied; Ratchet could be similarly damaged or killed.

Perhaps the-

There was a dull sound carried over the distance. Before Optimus's widening optics, the ship listed, fell to the side. Smoke billowed out from underneath. One of the lower walls that was nearest the ground now tore open. What could do such a- what was he witnessing?

The star saber and his own attack were forgotten in the wake of what he watched unfold.

* * *

His progress with the formula on Earth had already taken it to a form stabilized enough to fuel the spacebridge. Ratchet ran a quick experiment with his updated formula to test its stability in creating cybermatter when he thought Shockwave was preoccupied below. The result was far more shapely than the wild thing that the decepticon had shown him.

If that was that, he could have just shown his updated formula and been done with it.

Two problems with that plan arose immediately.

1- it would equate to the end of his usefulness. The decepticons would dispose of him and use the cybermatter in the omega lock for their own purposes. While he had agreed because of the omega lock itself, he still hoped to buy time for the autobots.

2- it still wasn't finalized. It wasn't stable for use in living cybertronians and that meant it still wasn't the perfected formula left behind in that data cylinder. That led to two unique problems as well: A) Shockwave's researched suggested that a fully stabilized formula (as would be the full formula left behind by the ancients, not some patched up version of Ratchet's) would bind properly with CNA and B) he would not have that perfected formula to give to the autobots so that they could use it as fuel when this was complete.

Ratchet had determined to set aside the cybermatter his preliminary experiment had created and focus on the formula once more.

It was nearly complete by the time Shockwave had been called out. The technology of this laboratory was mostly to thank for that speed.

He had left the research behind to approach the lone decepticon in the room once Shockwave had left.

The approach had led nowhere.

Nowhere _forward_, that was. It had led somewhere. It led him deeper down in regrets to stew in.

The vehicon had a voice that reeked with distress when he'd reached for him. The vehicon was scared of him and Ratchet could hardly blame that reaction.

Out of all that he had done during his synth-en fritz, Ratchet had always put the makeshift interrogation out of his mind. He hadn't thought of it until Bulkhead had returned with his face half slagged and said it was meant as a message for him. That suggested a grudge. A grudge suggested a personality.

And a personality meant that he had tortured a living being.

That was against every medical and ethical code he had ever sworn to. It was a painful dissonance to rectify what he'd done with the unstable energon in his system and who he was without it.

So Ratchet had excused himself from the room and fallen into work in order to shove those thoughts away.

Now he tried the same. While the vehicon remained against a far wall, Ratchet had walked back to his station and continued to do work that would maybe- just maybe- be a penance for his many failures over the millennias. It never would, but it allowed him to concentrate.

And through concentration, he finished what remained of the formula.

"The final piece of the puzzle," Ratchet breathed out to himself. One servo rose to his chin, amusement present despite himself. "Thank you, decepticon engineering."

Which cut through every other set of problems presented and left him with just one:

He now had the means to regenerate Cybertron.

And it did not belong in the hold of the decepticon warlord.

If he could escape and bring it to the autobots...

Even if he could not, Optimus still had the forge of Solus Prime. With the warship out of the way, he could use that forge to repair the lock (perhaps; the two of them had discussed away from the rest of the team that the forge was low on power: they did not know if it could withstand a repair the size of the omega lock) and the cybermatter formula would die with Ratchet.

It meant he needed to scrub this terminal of all the research he had made.

Gritted for his plan, the medic began to do just that.

* * *

The engine tore apart easily under his servos. Energon canisters stacked in the room were burned and their explosion left nothing of the vital machinery behind.

The floor under his pedes lurched and dropped. Predaking smiled even as he was tossed unbalanced against the walls as he stormed on.

There were many soldiers in the lower decks. Emergency crews rushed down for the engine blocks. Not one made it past him.

This-

the ship lurched again; the wall of the hallway ripped open when he transformed into a mode far too large for these halls and ran a claw through it; alarms blared like a symphony

-this would bring Megatron to him and he would be forced to witness that he was too late.

This warship was going down.

Nothing was going to prevent that.

* * *

Despite the fact that they had worked together for orns now, Breakdown and Arcee hadn't talked much.

It showed.

They transformed and crouched within the rubble of the briefly rebuilt autobot base outside the omega lock. It would be the only cover usable before the flat plains of the Sea of Rust.

And then they waited for Optimus's signal.

"So."

Breakdown let the word sit there before trying to add anything. "Uh. How've you been since that Airachnid thing?"

The two-wheeler didn't move from where she was watching the target clicks away.

"Fine."

Now, he could respect people who knew how to be short and efficient with words. He'd spent the war with decepticon blowhards that talked on and on. The vehicons were great in their simplicity. Granted, they didn't have the sheer amount of pride that the more high ranking decepticons did.

"Glad you guys killed her," he tried. "I won't have to worry about her getting me again."

Arcee tensed briefly.

"We didn't," she said.

That was news. Granted, Knock Out had corralled Breakdown away from Magnus's dressing down post-mission and they had never talked about what had happened. All Breakdown knew was that it was Airachnid's fault that those two had disappeared and that she was dead now.

He'd put her name next to Silas's and waited to see if their hauntings would stop with both dead.

"Oh," the mech replied.

She looked his way. The expression on her face was unreadable. It seemed like she was normally pretty good at just wearing an angry expression that was impossible to see past.

"Yeah. She won't be bothering either of us again," Arcee said. It was a hollow promise. Breakdown looked away.

"You really think that?"

That recieved a bark of laughter. His head whipped back around.

Arcee just gave a wry smile. "She can't do anything more to us," she answered. "Everything now will just be in our heads."

Like Silas still was.

And like Airachnid no doubt was for her after their long vendetta.

He thought of the ghosts of the Stunticons that had risen to be obsessed over lately.

They moved back to waiting but Breakdown thought he may have learned something from the short conversation. The apparent attachment Knock Out had to the two-wheeler made an ounce of sense now.

Further thought disappeared when action tore open.

They watched the _Nemesis_ dropping down.

"Is that our signal?" Breakdown growled while a servo turned to a hammer.

Arcee frowned.

"No," she stated slowly. "The smoke is coming from below. Optimus wouldn't be able to hit there from his position in the north."

Then what did?

* * *

He kept the information in his cortex and scrubbed the rest from the databases in front of him as best he could.

Mind made up, he stepped away from the now scrubbed terminal.

"I can't allow Megatron to possess the stabilized formula," he swore to himself.

He should never have agreed in the first place.

The lies crafted by the warlord weren't supposed to affect him. He was not supposed to cave to those demands, but he had. He had and he regretted it.

_Add it to the list._

"Not now, not ever."

Ratchet moved for the other free desk whereupon the quantumcryo-reducer rested. His goal was the isoprobe near it; surely tossing the tool into the reducer would cause enough of a distraction for him to escape this room-

But then a different distraction came.

The ship shook. Ratchet lost his footing, sliding down to one knee and crashing into the wall on his right.

What?

The medic struggled to get up while his helm rang from the impact. Nearby, the lone decepticon in the room was stumbling up from where he'd flown into a wall of his own. The vehicon made his way to the nearest console.

"_Nemesis_ command-" he pounded at the keypad and asked with unhidden concern.

Vehicons did not all share the same voice (although they did seem to share one of a few base voices); Ratchet could hear the distinct personality in this voice.

He could hear it giving out a location to a mine, yelling that that was it, all he knew, really-

he could hear the very sentient pain.

Ratchet didn't have time to worry about that. He could add it to the list of regrets as well.

"What is happening?" the vehicon demanded.

The ship shook again. The medic grabbed at the legs of the table where the quantumcryo-reducer sat and held on while the tremors commenced. It seemed the vehicon had done the same with the console itself; those decepticon claws left behind indents when they loosened their hold.

Now the lights flashed. A claxon rang.

Autobot or decepticon, an emergency signal was an emergency signal. They were universally recognizable.

_«There's-there's some sort of attack on the engine room! It-»_

The replying connected fritzed briefly.

_«Soundwave has a visual. I-it's the predacon!»_

The one that had hounded the team on Cybertron? That had only been disabled by a strike from Optimus's star saber (and not for long at that)?

_«It's going on a rampage! Path movin- -upwards, nearing yo- - -ocation-»_

There was a very audible screech on metal from somewhere in the ship nearby.

"Moving upwards from the engine room?" the vehicon in the room said. "But- but that would put it near the officer's quarters: near the medbay. I-I can't-"

Neither of them could.

If Optimus couldn't stop that creature, then an old medic and a single drone would be paste without a single sprain on the predacon's part.

Ratchet looked at the doorway leading into the medbay and back at the frantic vehicon he was responsible for hurting once (making him responsible for Bulkhead's injury and for any of the guilt that had elicited as well).

The room rumbled again.

Perhaps there were terminals outside that Ratchet could use to disable the security systems of the _Nemesis_ and contact the team with. He would need a quick evac off this ship. If and when the predacon caught up to his location, that would be the end. And with the formula for stable cybermatter? He couldn't allow that end.

So that was the plan then: find a way to evacuate before the predacon's rampage reached his location on the ship.

The medic looked back at the vehicon that was still trying to get a response from the terminal. The welds on his face were already a reminder of his energon on Ratchet's servos; the inevitable death caused by the predacon would join those stains.

Ratchet made a quick decision instead of wasting more time stressing when time was not a common commodity at the moment.

While the ship shook around him and alarms blared overhead, the autobot did something Optimus would likely find satisfactory in his soft spark: he grabbed the arm of the other and tugged them both from the shaking laboratory.

* * *

Megatron had been on the bridge of the _Nemesis_ when the first explosion sent shockwaves through the floors of the decks below all the way up to his own.

Once it had passed through and he could push up from the ground once more, he could see out the wide screens functioning currently as windows for the ship.

The skyline had risen. Or rather, the warship had dipped.

They were falling.

"We're under attack!" Starscream screeched from where he was tugging free from the vehicons he had crashed into.

"By whom?" Dreadwing pushed off of the terminal he had slammed against and broke. Glass clinked down to the ground behind him. Vehicons were speaking into different consoles; one had started the shipwide alarm.

No one had answers to the question Dreadwing had vocalized for them all.

So all optics fell on Soundwave. The officer was still a moment- likely accessing the proper feed- and then an image lit up on his visor.

It was the lower decks; the camera was situated outside of the engine room. Energon fires licked out from a broken doorway. A bipedal form was captured in the picture storming away from those fires.

The predacon.

Megatron kept one arm down for balance when the _Nemesis_ rattled again.

"Shockwave," he growled and was confident that his TIC was sending his words straight to the other officer's communications. "Secure the omega lock. Do not allow this crash to harm it."

It was, of course, impossible. But Megatron hoped that the damage inevitably done could at least be softened.

"So the beast thinks to tear our ship apart?"

Soundwave nodded once.

"We shall see," the warlord snarled and finally found his footing again. "Starscream, Soundwave- with me. Bridge us directly to the predacon's path. Let it see who it's picking this fight with."

The TIC nodded again. His remote control link with the groundbridge and spacebridge allowed the order to be completely feasible.

"My lord-"

He turned to Dreadwing before the seeker had even finished.

"Assume control of the bridge," Megatron ordered. "Direct our troops to minimize damage and steer us down as softly as possible."

A task that would be better relegated to Starscream- but the smaller seeker had not yet been reinstated for such positions and his ability to think outside the box would no doubt be an asset against the predacon.

Megatron had no illusions that he alone could fare against the creature; that was one of the reasons he had ordered the other clones killed.

And that reality infuriated him.

"Go!" he called out over the still-listening officers. They began to move. Soundwave waited for Megatron to stumble over the bridge to his side before lighting the room in green.

* * *

The alarms blaring kept Ratchet in a state of constant emergency. Their sounds did not make him panic -he was long used to hearing alarms, as he was a medical officer- but they did elicit a heightened sense of awareness. They were expected in a medical bay, where he would be the one cool head prevailing in a life-threatening operation.

Running down the halls of a decepticon warship was hardly what his training told him to expect from the constant blare of alarms.

Driving would have been more ideal. When it sounded as though the predacon was directly behind him, every part of Ratchet suggested he transform and speed away as fast as his alt-mode feasibly could.

But so long as he was carrying the dead weight he was, driving was out of the question.

The vehicon, at the least, hadn't struggled against his pull at all. If anything, he'd gone rigid from the moment Ratchet had touched him.

Guilt on doing the very thing that had made the other panic in the medbay would come eventually. For now, in the height of emergency, there was no time for it.

They rounded a corner and Ratchet saw the terminal against one of the purple walls.

Perfect.

He ran for it and released his hold on the rigid vehicon so that both servos could work.

All these hall terminals should be connected to the main system of the decepticon warship. If he could just- ah. There.

The decepticon finally began to move again. The dead still turned into rapid movement as he tried to tear back down the way they'd just come.

Medic reflexes were faster. Ratchet shot out an arm and grabbed the purple mech's shoulder.

Once again, the effects were rather instantaneous.

"What do you think you're doing?" the medic snapped. He tended towards snappiness when he worried. "The predacon is down there!"

There was some bubbling response he couldn't quite make out.

It couldn't be as important as getting off this ship. Ratchet tugged the vehicon back from certain death while he once again faced the terminal.

Shielding systems were already weakened from the physical damage to the lower decks.

Disabling them completely was feasible enough. Ratchet smiled as they fell; those systems had been a bane for the autobots on Earth for how long?

Hopefully, external damage hadn't taken out the communication relays.

They hadn't. But who knew how long that would last?

He found an open channel and called the base. Normally, that would be suicide; normally, using a decepticon channel to call the autobot base would mean handing over the location to Soundwave.

Judging by how he'd gotten into this mess, that wasn't really an applicable worry anymore.

"Autobot Outpost Omega One, do you read?"

Another shockwave sent him into the terminal painfully. Damn predacon and its damn rampage.

_«R...ratchet?»_ a small voice replied over the channel.

Ratchet smiled so hard it hurt.

"Rafael!" he confirmed. "It's me."

_I'm safe._

"Listen- there's not much time."

It occurred to him the moment he'd said it that those words most commonly were used by dying mechs. The poor kid didn't need that impression. He rushed to continue.

"I've deactivated the decepticon shielding system. You should be able to get a fix on my coordinates."

There was a brief cacophony of voices on the other side. Then Rafael's voice returned far more loudly than before.

_«I've got them»_ he said with confidence that made Ratchet proud. _«Sending a bridge now.»_

He'd once told the children that sending a groundbridge to a moving vehicle was risky. The _Nemesis_ was sinking in elevation and its halls shook; by all means, a spacebridge sent to one specific hall could very well end up in the wrong location as the ship around the coordinates moved.

But Ratchet didn't even register that very real plausibility.

True to Rafael's skills, the spacebridge that opened to his location remained where it was long enough for Ratchet to evacuate the moving ship.


	82. The Golden Warrior

The bridge left them deposited in the officer's quarters wing. True to Soundwave's skill, it was near the front of the predacon's rampage.

The wing was ruined. Emergency lighting was the only illumination showing off their opponent.

Yellow optics found their red ones. Fury was evident in every shake of the being in front of them.

"Erm. I don't suppose I could go find back up?" Starscream whined lowly. Megatron glared down at the coward in answer.

The predacon prowled forward. The warlord looked up at him without reaction.

It seemed only to anger Predaking.

"Megatron-" the giant growled.

There was a strong sense of deja vu that the warlord found rather displaced; very few had ever managed to loom over him, after all, and those that did met their end at his cunning.

Unicron had learned that, had he not? In brute power, the god outmatched him; but his failure to foresee Megatron's alliance with a Prime led to his defeat.

Amusing, was it not? To see a creature who called itself a god defeated by one it had called a mortal- poetry. Poetry of a kind words could never portray.

It was a poetry written in alien bloods and dead gods and a mortal immortalized into the woven threads of this universe.

This so-called king of a dead race thought himself able to tear down the construct Megatron had made his cause? It was nothing compared to Primus or Unicron and Megatron had still killed both of those gods.

If this clone wanted so badly to have been joined by his fellows, the warlord would oblige- he would send the predacon to the same death shared by the ancient race and the clones alike.

"It is true, is it not?" Predaking was heaving. It seemed ill likely that the exertion had been caused by his stampede through the troopers. He was angry.

Despite Megatron's own uncomfortable unease around a being stronger than him, the corner of his mouth turned up in a hidden smirk.

Anger could be a tool in combat, when utilized correctly.

When utilized wrong, it was a tool for the opponent.

Optimus was a challenge because he rarely ever revealed emotions of the like in battle. Megatron wore all their passion for them and had few of the Prime's to twist to his advantage.

For a being proclaiming great strength and age, Predaking had no control over his own emotions. A pity, really. Megatron had almost wanted a challenge.

"You saw to the annihilation of my army."

It was not a question. The predacon was too smart to bother with such, apparently. Sabotaging the engine spoke of resolution, decision. A rational creature did not have such resolution without knowledge to back it.

And Predaking's first show of rationality was what convinced Megatron to 'annihilate' the others.

A beast with strength that surpassed his own was enough to worry him. But a beast followed its dominator.

Rational beings had funny ideas about freedom and rebellion- ideas he had once held up, ironically. Life was full of ironies, was it not?

His own decision to keep predacon rebellion down preemptively had led to a predacon rebellion sending his warship down to the crust of this planet. That was bitter irony. Not at its finest, but what could be expected from a brute like Predaking?

"Indeed," Megatron slid his blade free. It looked small in the face of the towering predacon. He'd once looked small in the face of the creatures dragged to the floor of the Pits of Kaon. At his side were two of the most fragile yet dangerous decepticons in this army, easily dwarfed by him let alone the predacon.

There was a power to having strength underestimated as well.

"And my only mistake-" he slammed his free servo to the wall and dug his talons in for balance while the _Nemesis_ lurched again. Still, his voice did not interrupt for long. "-was not seeing the extermination through!"

Predaking roared bloody murder. Megatron braced his footing and kept his blade ready for the incoming charge.

* * *

Dreadwing had many questions.

The chief of these was, simply, how does one pilot a crashing warship to the ground in a manner that will minimize damages?

He'd crashed many ships over the eras but all had been one-seaters. None had been a vehicle of this size with this many sparks aboard.

The seeker tried to look calm.

"Stations," he ordered. "Turn the helm to the east. We will angle our landing with the slopes of the Sea of Rust."

It seemed logical enough to him. No complaints rose on the plan, so he hoped that meant it was wise.

"Begin emergency protocols," Dreadwing turned to the rest. A shake of turbulence sent him down, but the seeker caught his fall and stood again with relative ease.

He wasn't sure what those emergency protocols were, but the deck officers knew. They knew, had trained in these scenarios, and went about at their stations.

His own lack of knowledge did not need to be revealed; he merely needed to remain confident and allow that confidence to spread to those who _did_ know what they were doing.

"Direct all those on the lower decks to the escape pods if they are unable to retreat to the upper level," he added. "Evacuate levels two through four."

There were many pings and communications all around him, but Dreadwing had filtered them out.

The direct ping was a different matter.

Dreadwing pulled his gaze away from the screens showing the distant-but-approaching land and let his optics unfocus while his mind delved to the communication line.

_«Commander!»_

The bridge rattled. Dreadwing held tight to the lead terminal's stand and listened to a voice he recognized.

The voice was full of distress he also recognized.

_«Co- Dreadwing- Dreadwing, are you-where are-»_

The panic made the seeker's spark pang with sympathy.

_«I am on the bridge»_ he answered. _«I have been left to command this ship's fall.»_

Hopefully, XL-2M99 had heard the order to evacuate.

_«I-I-th-the autobot»_ the medic's words were unclear. _«The autobot- the medic- the autobot medic-»_

Another tremor rocketed by.

"Hold steady!" Dreadwing shouted to the bridge before responding. «Shockwave's hostage. What of him?»

There was a feral whine on the other end. It made his spark flare cold.

_«He...he has me.»_

What?

The seeker snapped his head up to look at the door to the bridge.

_«Are you safe?»_ he asked.

_«I-no. I'm not hurt, but h-he's not safe»_ XL-2M99 said.

Surely the medic was the least threatening of the autobots, but...

_«What do you mean, 'he has you'?»_

It was a moment before the other responded. Dreadwing felt ready to storm from the bridge during the tense silence.

_«He's trying to get his team to bridge him to their base and I- I think he's trying to take me too. Dreadwing, I can't-»_

How dare the autobots play this hostage game as well. The seeker growled; one vehicon, even if he was the only medic on board besides perhaps Shockwave, would never be enough for Megatron to allow a search party.

_«I am on my way»_ he promised and his voice let the threat of violence seep through. The autobot medic would be pried off of his brother one way or another.

There was another silence. XL-2M99 hissed as though through dentae that he did not have; the emulative sound ripped through Dreadwing's spark.

_«...you can't»_ the medic finally spoke despairingly. _«You can't leave the bridge. Don't you dare give Megatron a reason to replace you.»_

What-

_«I'm s-»_

The commline closed off. Dreadwing checked it hastily: out of range or shielded.

He was gone.

Every instinct wanted to tear out of the bridge in hopes that it was not too late.

The seeker straightened out of the panicked hunch he'd fallen into and looked at the vid-screens. Dust and metal were getting nearer. Vehicons were working as quickly as they could at their stations. No doubt somewhere in the ship, Megatron was dealing with their saboteur.

Despite the looming panic, Dreadwing could not register the emergency as he had before. It happened concurrently to his reality. It happened with or without him.

Dreadwing had lost all previous questions.

Now he only wondered if he had sacrificed the medic he had determined to protect by remaining here.

* * *

One set of claws slid against the wall and carved metal asunder. It was a show of strength. Despite the upgrades to his armor- upgrades that left him untouched recently by all but the spacebridge explosion and Optimus's star saber- there was a wash of apprehension in the face of that show.

Megatron pinned it down to primal fear and shoved it from his mind.

Or tried to, at the least.

The short blade jabbed forward the moment the predacon came in range. Predaking snarled, letting his forearm take the blow before sliding his servo up to the sword and clenching it. Fluid seeped from the cuts tearing into the beast's servo, but he was undeterred. It clenched tighter despite the wounding and then, with a low roar, Predaking twisted his wrist. The blade snapped.

It was startling. But Megatron had no time to be startled. Such instinct had long before been trained out of him.

His other servo had left the wall and joined the first in transforming. The blade stabbed straight down into the neck joint of the predacon's bipedal mode.

Unfortunately, Predaking shifted away and retaliated with a fury. He grabbed both of the warlord's shoulders and brought a pede down on his chest.

It was a blow greater than those Optimus dealt out regularly. Megatron felt himself shoved down to a knee.

The servos on his shoulders left and grabbed his upper arms. Predaking threw the warlord up, to the side, crashing down even as the hallway they fought in lurched. He was on top of the other in an instant.

Unable to stop comparing, Megatron noticed that the weight was more massive than Optimus's. He was right to have killed the other clones.

Predaking slammed him up and down again in an attempt to disorient the mech. Servos that returned to his shoulders carved trenches in supposedly impenetrable armor. The spikes that Optimus had cleaved off in that Earth desert had never been replaced; Predaking's claws dug into the joint beneath. Megatron bucked, kicked the larger opponent, used his own talons to rake lines in that furious face- it did nothing. Predaking was not to be dislodged.

"Do you feel defenseless, Megatron?" the predacon growled too close. The warlord offered no answer as he fought the hold atop him.

"Good," the beast growled. "Then you know what my fellow predacons endured right before you massacred them!"

The claws moved from his shoulder to slam over his face, grinding down with a strength he had not felt from an enemy since the beasts in the Pits of Kaon threatened his younger form. He grabbed the wrist of the monster and pushed. Their forces exerted against each other; the claws were pushed off of Megatron's face, but his own strength in keeping them back was met with a force more powerful than his own.

There could be stall, but not total prevention.

Enough of this.

The _Nemesis_ rumbled. Megatron's grip left the servo trying to crush his face; his remaining blade appeared and stuck itself in Predaking's right side. The predacon flinched away from the bite of the blade and-

and Megatron used that flinch to roll to the left. The predacon tumbled with him.

He stabbed, hit, worked at breaking more fragile joints. It lasted briefly enough. Predaking roared- in frustration or pain or both- and lunged up at him.

The warlord side stepped and let the lunge slide past him.

And now he had what he needed: distance.

His fusion cannon pointed at the mech shoving up from the ground and fired. And fired again.

And he realized with a sinking feeling that the shieldings around the vital plating given to the predacon by Shockwave were strong enough to absorb shots of even a weapon the caliber of his fusion cannon.

The predacon pushed up from the ground with a feral growl. Despite its blasé attempts at intelligence, it was still feral- wasn't it?

Megatron moved behind him before he could stand. This time it was he who grabbed the other's shoulder; his other arm shoved his blade in deep between the wings of the monster. Something snapped beneath his ministrations. The warlord felt vindictive pleasure.

With a spinal structure cut, there were always results. They ranged from the inability to safely transform to minor discomfort in moving. He had only to put this to the test.

He gave one more punch to the predacon's face for good measure and then retreated limping back to where his two decepticons were standing. Starscream had his missiles pointed but hadn't fired. Soundwave hadn't moved at all.

"That's the spirit-" Megatron spoke and his voice betrayed the exhaustion his frame felt. Yellow optics shot at him with absolute hatred; the predacon moved to stand and could not. That hatred only grew at the evidence of his own disadvantage.

"But I was the champion of the Pits of Kaon," the warlord raised his voice and drew all that hate towards him again. "-not only due to my savage might but also my cunning!"

Predaking snarled and pushed up to one knee.

"You should have used your one advantage over me-" Megatron continued.

He watched closely as he spoke, waiting- just waiting- to see the moment his taunt hit home.

"-and faced me as a _beast_."

The next snarl mixed with a howl. The warlord knew that he'd succeeded.

For a creature like Predaking, an insult to intelligence (his reference to his own cunning) and being told that losing what little intelligence it had to strike as the mindless animal it was created to be (but thought himself so above) was a vicious _coup de grace._

And it landed. The predacon howled again but caved to the strength he pretended to be above.

And the advantage moved from Predaking to the decepticons who'd fooled it.

* * *

He hardly noticed when the autobot stopped talking with the other voice.

He hardly noticed when the bridge opened and that servo returned to his plating to tug him through.

But once he had been tugged through, XL-2M99 found himself focusing again on his surroundings. The comm he'd opened to Dreadwing out of a fool's try for rescue cut the moment his pedes landed on the concrete flooring. It could have been distance, but more likely the interruption came from a security field here.

Wherever _here_ was.

XL-2M99 thought it was Earth right away. The concrete, the dirty decor, the humans-

wait, humans?

The organics were up on some sort of ramp. The tiniest one XL-2M99 had ever seen was running for the rail and shouting at the autobot medic; it was even smaller than his organic tree on the _Nemesis_.

The _Nemesis_...he wondered if it had crashed yet. He wondered if there were survivors. He wondered why he'd been dragged off of it.

There was a dirty autobot symbol on the floor. That, out of everything, convinced him this was the autobot base; the one they'd kept on Earth, at any rate.

What other autobots were here?

The wrecker, maybe? Replacement optic or not, XL-2M99 knew what it was like to hold a grudge. It seemed more than likely that the green autobot would be holding one against the vehicon.

"Who's that?" some unknown voice said loudly enough. It sounded accusatory.

The vehicon's head shot back over to the small crowd of humans and _him_.

The moment for observation was over.

XL-2M99 bolted.

There were two halls leading out of this chamber. From a precursory glance, one appeared to be lined with doors but seemed to end in a wall. The other curved. He chose the latter.

Shouts followed his retreat. They only fueled his sprint.

If only he had an alt mode. Running on pede never got him anywhere. It hadn't let him run from the autobot medic _last time,_ why would it now?

There was a light on the ground now. So this did open up to the outdoors? XL-2M99 kept running while the tunnel continued to curve. The light on the floor grew brighter and then-

Then it began to narrow. There was a screech of metal.

He rounded the last curve and all light from the star outside cut off with a slam. Two doors; double doors, automatic, shut. _Shut_. No. XL-2M99 slammed an arm against the door. He tugged at the bottom, at the cracks in the middle- nothing.

So this was a dead end then. So he would have no choice but to return the other way.

An alt mode? What he really needed was some sort of weapon to keep the others away.

His class in the miner models branches had neither. XL-2M99 had to creep back cautiously on pede.

Maybe the other hall would work better for escaping.

* * *

His original form spread out in the cramped hall.

His tail flicked behind him along the floor of the walkway. His wings expanded as much as they could and remained in that cramped position. His pedes carved into the metal beneath him.

Was this what Megatron desired? To see his might and attempt to best it?

Foolish mechling.

Predaking roared and snapped his jaws.

The little seeker retreated. Megatron took a step back. The silent one did nothing.

He strode forward with little care for the walls his form cut into. What did it matter if he damaged this ship? The goal had been to tear its construct apart, after all.

Wings snapped against the walls. Mandibles parted. The taste of energon practically already flowed within those jaws. He tasted the defeat of the murderer already.

Megatron lifted his weapon again and fired. The bolts of plasma seared through the thin synthetic bind of his wings.

What did it matter?

Flight could be taken from him, but Predaking hoped only to take life from the killer of his brethren.

Starscream continued to point missiles, jerking them between him and his master. He was a disloyal creature; just as Megatron had been disloyal to the predacons.

What did that matter?

The cannon continued to fire where his shielding and wings were weak. His back felt like fire ruptured with every step he took.

It did not matter.

Predaking lunged, ignored the fire that expanded over his spinal struts, ignored the pain; his maw filled with heat and the decepticon trio stumbled back. Their movements did nothing; he was still going to reach them, going to tear them apart, going to-

-something else erupted in the hall. It flared green and wide and his trajectory sent him reeling through it.

The walls of the warship disappeared. He was writhing on nothing, surrounded by dead air that rent with the noises of the descending warship.

He was outside?

Predaking flared his wings to suspend himself in the sky.

The tears made by the fusion cannon disrupted the catch of air. Was that their plan all along? Goad him into taking on this form so that they could disable his wings and bridge him into the sky?

How...intelligent.

The last foe who had used his pride and superior form against him was Prima.

And just like he had in the battle with that foe, the golden warrior was left to fall once more.

* * *

_AN- In Stronger, Faster the vehicon miner Ratchet tortures runs instead of ever just driving/flying away. I couldn't see any wheels/vehicular kibble on his model and- while some vehicon miners are shown with weapons- he doesn't particularly seem able to transform either arm to a weapon. XL-2M99's transforming capabilities are working off of those base observations._


	83. Were It So Easy

It was Starscream that spoke first. The seeker sidled forward, clapping lazily.

"Bravo, my liege," he purred.

As though his praise could make up for his lack of help in the battle.

Not that Soundwave had done much to prevent the injuries littered across the warlord's frame. Megatron assumed he had been looking for weaknesses; analyzing was Soundwave's specialty, after all. Had he merely teleported the predacon outside during the start of the battle, then Predaking would have flown back or damaged the ship from the outside.

As it always did, the TIC's silent reasoning was sound. Megatron could deal with the injuries aching on his frame; it was better he hurt than the predacon kill them all.

"It isn't every day one would witness the extinction of a species all over again."

Well. As useless as Starscream had shown himself to be in battle, he did have a way with words once the smoke had cleared.

The warlord looked to the emoteless visor of his TIC.

In their silence, they shared the same dread.

Had they witnessed an extinction?

Or had the predacon slunk away with its life?

That certainly would throw his plans out of order. So he looked away from Soundwave to enjoy the confidence of his air commander.

* * *

He fell.

There was no re-entry, no burning fires, no tail of sparks trailing behind his descent-

yet he burned all the same.

His predacon form twisted in the air; his torn wings tried to slow his descent; his body writhed like a wyrms in thoughtless pain and the fear of the approaching ground.

All the fire was drawn from a central point among the structures of his back. The struts between the missing one- cut away from him by the murderer- rubbed together with burning agony.

This was a controlled fall. It was rectifying failure so as to walk away with life.

The injury in his back was fire.

The pride he'd pieced together from those disconnected memories of a legend that once shared his CNA burned burned burned to cinders as it fell with him.

Below, the ground grew closer. Behind, the warship smoked in its own controlled descent.

It was little comfort that his enemies would crash just as he would. They were sheltered within a technological wonder. He was just one being falling; no shieldings but his own, no armor but his own, nothing to absorb the shock of the impact.

Dust and metal was now distinguishable rather than the ground just being one singular mass of color.

There was no more time for thought, even if the pain and despair had been allowing that.

It rushed at him and then he hit it.

The pain was immediate. It rattled up through every plate. Metal bent or collapsed. His head threw back and keened. Cracked optics saw the smoke trail of the _Nemesis_ still airborn but distant compared to his current spot on the ground.

For too long, he lay there- a shattered mess. Then he forced a sequence that no doubt woul- oh yes. Yes, it did hurt. It was an agony of shifting and displacement and shards falling, crushing, squeezing between joints.

He had to do it. In the state he was in, anyone could find and kill him. He needed to put distance between the small crater he lay in and himself. And he needed that distance to be as untraceable as possible; dragging his natural draconian form was far from untraceable.

His pride remained dashed among the rocks where he'd crashed.

But his body crawled up without it- _alive_.

* * *

After the warship first lurched, Arcee sent a comm to the others.

It said she didn't think that was Optimus's doing. The Prime commed moments later to confirm her guess.

And so their little team was left to just watch the _Nemesis_ collapse.

Its actual fall was slow. And it was absolutely magnetic to watch.

There was a completely different feeling to watching the warship crash when he wasn't on it compared to when he was. There was a lack of wild panic, for one thing. And...that was mainly it, really. Not feeling like he was about to die was always a win in Knock Out's books; this was just having prime seating at excitement.

They probably both would've just stood there watching its fall until the actual crash if not for two events:

First, Ratchet joined the team comm.

_Ratchet._

It got pretty wild after that. Everyone was asking questions at once and being either happy or confused or both; all in all, it was loud, it was chaotic, and it was barely possible to piece together what was really important about it all: Ratchet was on Earth. He was using the transmitter there to speak over the team channel while different human voices piped up in the background.

Second, however, was when the other shape started to drop from the sky.

It was dwarfed by the warship, but the twisting shape was still quite visible.

_"Is that...the predaon?"_ Bumblebee asked.

By all appearances, yes.

_"Why isn't it flying?"_

Who knew? Knock Out shrugged, even as his attention moved solely from the warship's descent to Predaking's. He remembered when he'd run to the vaults to get the dark star saber and bring it back so that Megatron could stand a chance against tall, dark and scaly, but hadn't they just shot him out of the airlock then? If he'd just been shot out of the airlock, wouldn't he just transform and fly away-

Wait. He was already in his rootmode. And, inexplicably, he was not flying away.

"That's...odd," he mused aloud in answer to Bumblebee's second question.

The dark shape disappeared from view when it crashed; their field of vision wasn't a perfect, flat plain.

Bumblebee moved a minute later.

"Wait, wait, wait-" Knock Out grabbed his arm and stopped the departure. "What do you think you're doing?"

There had to be a reason that he stopped him. What was that again- oh, right.

"Shouldn't we be comming for a spacebridge? Regrouping with the others?" he offered a smile while he voiced his 'suggestions'.

The other turned around without trying to wrench free, at the least.

_"Optimus is probably waiting for the ship to finish crashing and then he'll have us all regroup to plan our next moves."_

Yes, that was what he figured. So what did this little cowboy lone-wolf stuff come from?

_"If Ratchet is safe, that's enough for me,"_ Bumblebee continued. _"I can join you all later."_

That explained nothing. His unimpressed expression seemed to vocalize the thought.

_"Look,"_ the scout shrugged. _"The predacon is injured. Optimus said they're all people too, didn't he? We didn't manage to save any at the lab, but I can still find this one and call medical help for it. Or, hey, you're a medic; you can follow me."_

Hmm, tempting. A chance to get close to a brute that had no respect for the no-touchy rule with anyone? Yes, he could see why Bumblebee was jumping at the chance to head over.

"No." He released the scout's arm so that he could cross both of his own. "I want to be ready for Optimus's orders."

The words weren't actually meant as an insult, but the yellow mech slumped as though it had been.

_"And we- I- will be. I just. I want to make sure it's alright. Think of how much of an ally a predacon would be!"_

"Quite the advantage, I grant you, but you can't just miss our next big fight," Knock Out said.

It was rather important that Bumblebee not miss it, after all.

_"I wasn't planning on staying that long!"_ the mech argued. _"The minute Optimus has a job for me, I'll go to it."_

Unless he was busy keeping company to a grounded predacon.

"You'd better," the medic replied. "You're too important to just sit back while the rest of us charge the ship."

Bumblebee whirred bashfully (or rather, added enough bashful glyphs to get the point of his whir across).

_"I think you're giving me way too much credit,"_ the scout 'laughed'.

Did he? Well, did he have two timelines of experience backing his opinions?

"Bee." Knock Out's arms uncrossed without him noticing. "Haven't you ever...wondered what you'd do if you had the opportunity to end the war?"

Maybe it was the way his voice changed moods so suddenly. Maybe it was the change in conversation itself. Whatever it was, the scout had gone startled and still.

_"What?"_ he tried to laugh again.

It didn't quite sell the second time.

"If you had the chance to kill Megatron, would you take it?"

Knock Out knew the answer. Bumblebee did not seem to.

_"I- I mean, why would I need to? Optimus is gonna eventually,"_ the scout replied slowly.

This time it was the red mech that laughed.

"After all the chances he's already gotten? Don't you realize by now? I'm just as much a fan of him as you are-"

More, most likely. Knock Out was not to be outdone.

"-but that just doesn't seem likely. Optimus didn't even take the ship down, something else did."

Bumblebee looked uncomfortable to hear it.

_"Optimus is powerful enough-"_

"Powerful, yes," Knock Out interrupted, "But he can't finish the big M off. Can't you tell? All the opportunities in the past show it. Their history shows it. You said it first: if it was one of us that started a war, you'd still have trouble taking us down. They were close back when Optimus was still Orion Pax."

_"I...I did say that."_

Optics whirred wide, unfocused, then narrowed in on something unseen.

_"So, you're saying, the part of him that's still Orion..."_ the scout began.

Knock Out finished for him: "-may not be able to kill Megatron anytime soon."

In all honesty, he had no idea if what he was saying was the truth.

For all he knew, Optimus _could_ do it. He could end the war by cutting off the decepticon army's head.

This was him pulling slag out that he felt sounded good enough.

All he _did_ know was that Bumblebee had been very important in ending the war in his last life.

And Knock Out was scared to find out what would happen if that battle didn't have that key player involved because said player was too busy babysitting an injured Predaking.

"All I'm saying," the medic shook his head, "is that if you get the chance, don't waste it. None of us should."

Optical brows narrowed together.

_"I wouldn't,"_ Bumblebee said.

Knock Out could've smirked.

"I know."

He'd been there when it happened, after all.

"But you won't be getting any chances if you're sitting out here telling feel-good stories to a predacon," he waved in the vague direction of Predaking's crash.

Bumblebee put a servo on the one waving and pushed it down gently.

_"I'll be back the minute you guys have a plan,"_ he promised. _"Besides,"_ there was a carefree wink _"-you're still welcome to come."_

The scout stepped back, folded up, and turned to tear towards the crash site.

As tough a choice as it was, Knock Out remained behind to watch the Nemesis finally carve a trench in the Sea of Rust.

* * *

Walking away was harder than he thought it would be.

Predaking stumbled forward. One servo was tight around his side as though that could stop the pain from all over him. The other was out for balance- and to catch himself whenever his stumbling led him to fall.

He made it to one of the empty vents before the ground shook. The shockwaves sent him tumbling down; the fall sent more pangs through him and left more fluids to drip away.

Once, these vents outpoured gasses that stained the air and metal red. He remembered their functions in the era of his former life and they matched the information on the Great Rust Sea. But now they were empty. Cold and dead, like the rest of this planet. Like the rest of his kind.

It was all

too

much

Predaking pulled himself to the crack and let himself fall in.

It was a shallow drop. The sky's light from the vent above leaked down to the floor of the gas tubes.

He was content to stay there- his back to the natural wall and his life leaking from him- but fate had other plans.

Those plans came in the shape of an autobot peeking down at him from the crack above.

* * *

It was a busy reunion.

He'd only been gone an Earth day, perhaps, but the humans were all over him.

Ratchet didn't mind.

What he did mind was their continued use of this base when it had been proven to be compromised. The worry wasn't consuming, however. With the warship on a path to crash when he left, chances were they'd be too busy getting their ship airborne again to attack here.

All five humans rushed to the edge of the catwalk to see him when he came through.

All five? he wondered briefly and realized that, yes, even agent Fowler had come. For him? The medic warmed at the thought.

"You're not hurt!" Rafael said first. There was evident relief on every one of their faces. For a species Ratchet had sworn not to like, he knew how to read their facial expression quite well; they were practically cybertronian, after all.

"Just some nicks and scratches," he smiled at the boy. "They didn't want me there to hurt me."

yet, he thought but didn't say to the others. It was almost certain that, once his use ran out, the decepticons would have been more than happy to hurt him.

The oldest of the teens looked down to the side; June's hand was on his shoulder, holding him close to her. They were such a close family. Ratchet had almost allowed it to be ripped apart.

"I'm glad you're okay," Jack told him.

It wasn't forgiveness for endangering his mother, but it was something.

In a life that didn't often offer true erasal of mistakes or failures, Ratchet lived for those somethings.

The third human child interrupted the moment.

"Yo Ratch, what'd they even want you for if it wasn't to get rid of you? Your sense of humor?"

The medic level an unimpressed stare at the teen.

"Y-e-es, Miko, that's exactly why they dragged me over."

She grinned unapologetically. Then her head tilted to look past him.

"Who's _that_?" she frowned at the vehicon that Ratchet had taken with him.

With his reunion at play and the decepticon holding so still, he'd forgotten about the other. The still of the other broke the moment Miko spoke. He lurched forward and ran to the road leading out.

Instead of giving chase, Ratchet moved away from the others to the main console. The security door that was often shut to disguise the base from the outside was open. Considering the fact that June Darby's car was here in the main room, one of the wreckers had likely let the humans in and forgotten to close the door again. Ratchet dealt with that problem easily.

He noticed all the humans waited for him to speak.

"That," he answered, "is the current medical officer of the _Nemesis_."

The words soaked in. Then Fowler frowned.

"That doesn't explain why he's here," the agent said.

Yes, well Ratchet didn't really want to explain why the vehicon was here. Not to the kids. The kids were too young, too innocent, too happy with him (he thought of Rafael and their lessons on cybertronian script) to know those details about their autobot medic.

"We have bigger problems to worry about," Ratchet changed subjects. "Where's the rest of the team?"

Rafael ran back to his computer and sat down with it. "They're on Cybertron looking for you," he started in a tone of professionalism that most of the rookies on this team should envy. "Here. I've opened the team commline on the main monitor."

Good. The medic turned to that monitor.

"Optimus," he started.

There were a few responses from just about everyone on that commline. Ratchet shook his head. What was so hard to understand about _one at a time_?

"Listen-" the medic interrupted the inflow of questions. "I'm on Earth."

Miko added something that he tried to zone out. Really, again, what was so hard to grasp about simple comm etiquette?

"I know what the decepticons plans are. We're going to need to act fast, before their ship is able to take off again."

If it was even still in one piece.

Out of his peripherals, he saw the purple figure return creeping into the room as slowly as possible.

_«We will regroup on Earth then»_ Optimus said.

The medic nodded at the order.

"We'll prepare to bridge you all back. Send your coordinates." He turned his head when he was done to look at the decepticon where he was standing against the wall between the corridor and the road. The vehicon noticed the attention; he contorted around the wall and fled down the secondary hall. Ratchet exvented in a parody of a human sigh.

"Rafael. Would you man the spacebridge for me?" he asked.

The boy nodded.

Of course he could.

With the job passed off, Ratchet excused himself.

This time, he would approach the living monument of all he had committed during his original synth-en experiments rather than turning away.

* * *

They had time to return to the bridge before the landing.

Dreadwing barely seemed to notice when Soundwave brought the trio back. He asked no questions; merely stepped aside and allowed control to return to the leader of the decepticons.

It was for show. There was nothing to be done now.

The _Nemesis_ came down on a natural slope. It tore through the ground reminiscent of how the _Death's Head_ had carved a trench on Cybertron's surface recently as well; the size and magnitude of the warship left far more damage behind.

But eventually the shaking was over.

And those alive were alive; that was their prize.

Deep on the lower level of the _Nemesis_, Shockwave remained on a deck that was officially evacuated. He waited to see the results of his rushed direction and the angle of the ship's crash.

The results were...satisfactory.

The omega lock remained mostly intact.

* * *

It was, of course, a dead end. That seemed to be discovered quickly enough. The vehicon returned back in the main walkway after no doubt finding that the only direction the turn went was towards the underground storages.

There was a beat while he stared down the autobot waiting in the hallway.

Then the vehicon had leapt at one of the small rooms used for relic storage or recharge.

Ratchet sighed again and started to walk for the room. The industrial door tugged shut. Not that it could really stop a cybertronian from barging in, but he still stopped outside the blocked entrance.

There was a thin row of windows at the top of each industrial door. Ratchet rose up on his pedes, keeping a servo on the wall for balance, and looked through them. The vehicon was barely visible at this angle; he was shoved up against the door in a sitting position. It was easy enough to see the way he convulsed even in such a cramped position.

Panic. Any good medic could see that.

Great. Ratchet leaned back and crouched outside the door where he knew the vehicon was sitting.

"Listen to me," he started.

There was a frantic shuffling before the other mech's voice sounded on the other end of the door, as far from Ratchet as could be possible when still 'bracing' the human made door shut.

"Don't come closer!" the vehicon snapped.

It sounded more frantic than it was no doubt meant to.

"I won't," Ratchet offered. "But I have to talk to you."

The reply was immediate.

"Fragger-" the other mech hissed. "You slagging fragger. Get away from me."

"Keep that talk down," he frowned. "There are children around here."

This time there was no reply. The silence was far too tense.

The memory came too late.

_Does your boss know you have a potty mouth?_

Too close. He went too close. Any experienced medic knew better than to say anything that could remind a trauma victim of their trauma.

Another mistake to regret later. Now wasn't the time.

"The ship was going down," Ratchet changed subjects.

There was a low keen on the other side. "Do you want me to _thank_ you?" the vehicon hissed.

No, he supposed not.

"Listen." The autobot set a servo on the door absently. "When we-...when I..."

No. Don't bring it up.

"I never realized that you all were..."

A noise that was most likely a set of claws digging into the floor met his audials. There was a choppy laugh.

"That _what_? That we're alive?"

Not really. Ratchet knew. All the autobots did, on some level. But this was a war. Life didn't hold the value it used to.

"I would have thought my response would have..." the other cut off with a whine. "I don't. I."

Nothing.

"It was the synthetic energon formula," Ratchet disclosed. "I was desperate. I tried it before it was ready. I'm a noncombatant otherwise."

Excuses? He thought better of himself. He thought this was about penance, not excuses.

"You're not going to be hurt here," the medic swore.

There was an audible hitch in venting.

"Get away," the vehicon pleaded with layers of compensating anger.

It fooled no one.

"I can't do that," Ratchet shook his head. "I'm not going to. I can't make this right if I'm not around."

There wasn't a scoff at that. There wasn't anything.

"What's your name?" the autobot tried.

No response.

The medic exvented and looked down, preparing to leave.

"I don't have a name," the voice inside the room said. "Just a collection of numbers and letters."

Another scrape over the floor. "Is that good enough for you? Or are you going to try to come in here?"

It was obvious he was feeling cornered. There was only one way in and out of this little safe spot he'd tried to make. Neither were fooled into thinking that the autobots were actually locked out.

"Is there anything that would convince you that you're safe here?" Ratchet asked. "Anything I can get you besides just letting you out?"

There was a whine. The sound of claws scraping neurotically over concrete grated on his audials. But he got an answer.

"...Yes. A communicator."

* * *

Optimus waited to see the horror completely unfold.

Then he stepped away from the side of the plateau.

_«Autobots»_

Now was the time to strike. But Ratchet's safety took priority. They would reconvene to find out the purpose of his abduction and plan out how best to hit the weakened decepticons.

Ratchet had been right.

They needed to be hitting their enemies hard and fast, precisely where it hurt.

No matter the hurt it caused him to be responsible for so much death.

_«Return to base. We must prepare to take the decepticon warship.»_


	84. While We Have Time To Talk

Bumblebee had gotten to see the predacon before. He'd been there when it first attacked the barricade. He'd gotten a chance to run away from it a few times after that.

There were a couple important notes he'd taken on the opponent during those moments.

Size, shape, methods of attacks, stuff like that.

So when he tracked the predacon from its landing site to the vent, he'd expected to see that draconian form curled up injured inside.

He hadn't expected to see a mech.

Optics wide, he'd taken in the stranger. Plating shaped into spikes, ornamental, richly colored and dark. Yellow highlights matched yellow optics; they were set on a gray face lined with injuries and the strangely angled, gaunt structure of the face itself.

The mech was sitting in a pool of fluids and sparking from multiple wounds. Bumblebee wasn't an idiot. He'd watched the predacon fall (while injured), land (likely getting more injured), and followed signs of departure to this mech (who was injured). The color scheme, the alien appearance, the size- all of it pieced together in his head pretty fast.

So far as he could tell, this mech was the predacon.

Was he still confused? Oh yeah. He had no idea how it had gotten an altmode, when, or why, but honestly? That wasn't really high on the list of things he knew were important right now.

No matter how quiet he'd been, the predacon's head still shot over to his own. One gray lip curled up while it growled. A servo rose from where it had been flopped against the ground and transformed to a glowing hot prod. weapon. thing. gun, maybe? none of the suggestions he thought up were exactly promising.

Bumblebee made his panicking spark calm down. He was here to rationalize, not run away out of simple fear.

_"I'm not here to fight,"_ he started.

The predacon below was heaving. But, besides raising the weapon, it didn't seem able to actually move for him.

Small comforts.

"Oh?"

Despite thinking he was pretty good at handling shocks, he was not ready to hear a response. Sure, the predacon had a mech mode and the mech mode had a more speaking-friendly mouth, but...

"Then what are you here for?"

Its voice carried a thick accent. It wasn't praxian or vosian or any accent he could recognize- not even a human accent (and, judging by their media, humans had quite a lot). There was something undeniably familiar in the accent, but as a whole it wasn't something he'd ever heard before. Just like its form looked like a cybertronian, its voice carried every indication of being one of them- it spoke audibly, spoke neocybex, and yet it was wrong on a primaly frightening level.

There was something ironic about the fact that humans- the tiny, fleshy organics that they were- seemed less alien that the being that, for all intents and purposes, looked like a mech sitting down below him.

"Have you tracked me down to kill me?" the predacon tried to sit up and failed. "Was my trail really so transparent that all of my enemies can find me?"

Bumblebee smiled under his mask.

_"Well, I am a scout,"_ he shrugged slightly- not enough to upset or scare the other. _"I've been tracking people's trails for millions of years now."_

It occurred to him that the predacon probably didn't have any knowledge of human time measurements. The other made no comment on it, however.

"Then others will not be able to find me?" it asked; the threatening edge was still there, but Bumblebee thought it sounded hopeful.

_"Seeker scouts will probably see your trail pretty easily,"_ the scout admitted.

The predacon growled and looked away.

At least that weapon didn't rise again.

_"Can I come down?"_ Bumblebee asked.

Judging by how it had reacted at seeing him, the predacon felt cornered and defensive. Asking permission gave off a feeling of weakness that belied strength to the one it was being asked of. Hopefully, that would put it at a bit of ease. It was an illusion of control for a cornered mech and no doubt both of them (the predacon seemed intelligent enough) knew it, but that didn't make it useless.

The giant clenched its jaws together before trying to lax.

"You are an autobot, yes?"

Bumblebee nodded an affirmative.

"Then I will allow it," the predacon gestured with the servo that wasn't currently a weapon. "Come and enjoy my humble lodgings, if you can withstand the stench of failure."

Funny. Bumblebee filed _can try humor_ to his list of factoids he knew on this new type of cybertronian. Or...old type, if he thought about it. Just new to him.

So far, the list was rather small.

It could transform.

It could speak.

It was rather literate at that.

And, for all the similarities it had with mechs, it seemed inexplicably alien.

The metal around this vent was stained and corroded; eons of outgassing had made it soft. Bumblebee took a risk by trying to pull himself down by it and was relieved it held his weight.

On the bottom of this vent's upper ledge, he could get a better look at the mech alt of the predacon.

As a trained scout, he had a whole lot of experience being observant. It was what let him track people or things, look for safe paths, the like- oh, and read people. Just a bit.

Right now, he could see how very tense the predacon was. The tubing around them carried the low sound of its quiet growl.

Okay. Bumblebee presented the palms of both his servos in cautious platitude.

_"I'm not here to try to take you on,"_ he tried to appease. _"Even in the shape you're in, you'd plaster me."_

Probably not true, but a little buttering up (as Raf would put it) never hurt. The growl eased up. Who knew if the predacon had even been conscious of making the sound.

"Good. A foundling like you would never stand against the force of my mighty race."

The list was updated with _prideful_. Good to know.

While the sentence had been delivered with proper ego, the predacon seemed distracted afterwards. It looked down to the side. Its scratched face leaked; the injuries didn't hide the way its expression had twisted.

Was it mourning? That was the closest option for a cybertronian equivalent he could match that expression to.

He made a small show of sitting down directly across from the ancient creature. Close enough to be seen, far enough to...well, be seen. That was the point: the predacon wanted its optics on this new 'threat' and this distance was the best way to put it at ease.

"Why are you here, if not to take advantage of my wounds?" it asked.

Because he wanted to get the autobots an ally.

Because he wanted to make sure he got that ally before the cons showed up to hurt it more.

Because he was soft sparked, even after the long war, and he didn't like to see people in pain.

_"I have two medics on my team,"_ Bumblebee said. _"I can get you their help. Let me call them and tell them your coordinates. Let us help you."_

It sneered at him.

"Oh? So that they can use my strength?" the predacon sounded sardonic.

_Possibly sarcastic_ got tentatively put on the list too.

_"No!"_ he shook his head. _"You shouldn't have to feel used by any of your allies."_

The vent echoed with wet laughter. It turned its head away from him to spit energon before looking back.

"I am not naive," it said. "I am the only predacon alive. You and your fellows want me either as their tool or dead."

Bumblebee slumped with a whir. This was what the decepticons taught it? Those slaggers.

_"No,"_ the scout tried softly. _"No. That's not how- that's not everyone. That's Megatron and Starscream and those guys. Optimus is different. But look-"_

He sat up straighter and tried for the most salesperson-esque voice his primal vernacular could manage.

_"You don't have to work with us. Just let me call a medic for you. You can get repairs and then go. I'm not asking you to be an autobot or join us or even be an ally. I'm just asking that you let me help you."_

That _may_ have been too much. But what could he say? He wasn't a diplomat or anything. That was Optimus's talent.

The predacon looked down again, optics narrowed in thought. The lenses were cracked, Bumblebee noticed. There were more important injuries to worry about though.

"...contact your _medic_, then," the predacon finally growled. "If you haven't already."

_Very capable of suspicion_ was shoved to the top of the list.

_"Thank you,"_ the scout said and sent a comm asking for either Knock Out or Ratchet to join him. He received impatient replies along the lines of _busy!_ in reply. Bumblebee rolled his optics and told them that he wasn't moving until a medic replaced him.

It would be no good to give the predacon- who'd just been promised repairs- more reasons to doubt cybertronians.

After that, they sat there. Every once in a while, the predacon would shift like it wanted to stand or just move in general; it always slumped back with a groan. As he'd expected, it really couldn't plaster anyone like this. Not if they kept their distance.

_"Hey,"_ he interrupted the awkward silence.

The predacon looked up from itself to stare at him through angry cracked optics.

_"Do you have a name?"_ Bumblebee finished asking.

Those optics widened and lost their angry flair for a moment.

"Predaking," it answered proudly.

Preda_king._ Alright. Bumblebee filed down the given name and guessed male as the preferred gender from it. The grand majority of cybertronians preferred it as well, so it came as no surprise to him.

_"That's an impressive name,"_ he tried for small talk. His optics tracked over the spiky form to the red things behind him (currently being crushed into the wall he was slumped against). _"Are those your wings? They're really impressive too."_

Small talk was easy for him. The difficulty was reading when to tamp down and when to just babble on.

"I am the king of those mighty legions of old," Predaking's accent continued to be tapped with that pride.

_Old_ got filed in as well.

_"You remember that?"_ he startled. _"I thought you were a-"_

"Clone?" the predacon tilted his head.

Well. Yeah.

"I am. But I was once Predaking; the original Predaking. I found the name within my memories."

That didn't deter the scout from his train of thought.

_"Wait-"_ Bumblebee lifted his servos._ "You called me young. But are you really that old? 'From before the Great Cataclysm' old? Weren't you cloned recently?"_

The predacon went thoughtful.

"I remember eons before the cataclysm," he said. "I remember a life surrounded by brothers, fellow warriors, all stronger than any of the bipeds that sparked later."

That was... _old_.

"I remember leading them all. I remember leading them for eons."

He looked desperately at the scout. "I remember watching this planet age. I remember watching the universe grow. I have memories from long before the first of your kind ever came to be. I remember Primus's ancient warrior; one thats field echoes in your leader's."

More than old. Prehistoric, even.

"I have those memories; but I do not think I remember them."

_"Because you're...a clone?"_ Bumblebee tilted his head sideways. _"Wait. Are you telling me that your only real experiences are coming from the moment you walked out of your test tube to now?"_

How long was that? A few Earth decades?

That would make this mech the first true youngling he'd met for a good chunk of the war.

"In terms of holding onto the memories of the warrior I was cloned from, I am old. Older than any living being on this planet. But by the memories that I truly have..."

Bumblebee tried to scoot a bit closer. _"You're young,"_ he answered for him. _"Younger than any of us."_

That elicited a growl. Predaking's lip was curled up in threat.

"I am ancient. I am immemorial." The bragging tone drifted away and the predacon fell quiet again. "And somehow my own mind is no more old than a foundling's."

_"Shockwave didn't give you much of a chance to be a you-a foundling, I take it."_

Of course not. Nobody got to be a youngling anymore. Not in nine million years. And- if he was remembering the stories about the Golden Age and Age of Wrath before it- not even before the war had started.

_"He made you as a ready-made war machine, no matter where your mind was."_ It wasn't a question.

The predacon's optics half shuttered over broken lenses. It was strange to watch. Only half (or so) of cybertronians had shutters; he was one of the exceptions, but he hadn't really seen all that many others that could do things like wink.

"I do not believe he even knew I retained memories from my previous life. Lives. I was cloned once before. Not that my creator had any reason to expect it. Even for me, those lives feel separate," the predacon looked at his servos and flexed long claws. "...but the instincts: they are all mine. They tell me I belong with my legions. They tell me that I can battle any foe without defeat. They have served no purpose but pain."

The autobot shifted closer again. No threat rose at the edging proximity.

_"That sounds hard,"_ Bumblebee sympathized.

It could've been better. Could've been worse too. Who knew what Smokescreen would've said in his stead.

Predaking let his head fall back; the crests dug into the soft metal wall.

"I do not want your sympathy," he said without enthusiasm. "You only continue to live because your medic is not yet here."

_Lies to look tough_ fell onto the list. At this point, Bumblebee really had a pretty good spread of personality on it.

Optimus was right. They were smart; they probably had personalities like this one did. These guys didn't deserve to have been killed en mass in that lab.

_"Well, despite what that apparently means for my health, I'm still hoping one of those medics shows up here soon,"_ the scout deadpanned with a bite of irritation at the end. He sent another message back to the team to express this irritation.

Predaking almost looked amused, but his face went lax with exhaustion too quickly to be sure.

Bumblebee scooted closer. The other didn't bristle. He turned himself around so that his back faced the same wall the predacon's did; his doorwings touched that wall but he did not lean back like the other mech did. It was more comfortable to lean over his knees.

If Predaking didn't want his sympathies and didn't want his unpolished advertisement for the autobots, then what would be a suitable distraction for all the injuries leaking all over from him?

_"...do you wanna listen to some rock music with me?"_

The predacon blinked down at him as if the scout had said the stupidest thing he'd ever heard.

A little while later and the music of Rear Axle hung in the awkward air of the dead vent.

* * *

A flimsy door.

All he had was a flimsy door.

One way in, one way out. If someone tore that door down, he'd be stuck with three walls rather than any way to run again.

XL-2M99 wasn't claustrophobic on a normal basis. This room had him rethinking that fact about himself.

It was tiny, and, more importantly, it was unsafe.

At the moment, it had felt like the safest option. Everything else was a dead end.

For some reason, the faux safety the door provided was respected by the autobot. Even after more voices joined the room down the hall, no one came ripping in.

There were no questions on decepticon plans or locations or weaknesses.

Not yet, he thought.

He expected the false safety to end.

He expected questions.

He did not expect to be given the communicator he'd asked for.

"Here-" the medic's voice came from outside. Something clunked on the floor of the hall. "You'll have to open the door to get it. I'll just...stand back."

There was shuffling. XL-2M99 felt his vents clog again. He did not want to open the door. He wanted the communicator.

The latter won out. The vehicon turned over to sit on his knees and pulled the gate up. One arm braced it when the opening was small and the other reached out to the hall floor.

Nothing cut it off. The medic didn't step on it and hold it to the ground for leverage.

His servo found the transmitter and pulled it in to him. As soon as it crossed the barrier, he dropped the door and turned over again to lean against it.

Safe. _For now,_ but that was something.

"It should let you transmit to Cybertron; boost your comm range."

He knew what a transmitter did.

XL-2M99 did not say that aloud.

"I'm going to wait out here," the autobot shuffled back over. "Just to make sure you don't give-"

One of the humans shouted. The medic grumbled- to himself, most likely- and aborted whatever he'd been going to say in favor of rushing down the hall.

Good. XL-2M99 didn't want _him_ looming over him ever, but the idea of that presence during a comm...no.

He fiddled with the device as best he could in the low lighting. This room's light came only from those windows on the door. The windows that had let the autobot peek through, his shadow interrupting the light, weighing down on-.

It seemed ready to use. No tinkering needed. No input. Preset. XL-2M99 was almost disappointed. Tinkering would have given him something to focus on besides the fear that being trapped in his enemy's base elicited.

He set it back down between his legs. They rose up to his chest; his pedes sandwiched the transmitter and stayed there tightly.

His helm sat on his knees while his processor sought out his internal comm.

The little device interfaced with his systems remotely.

He called. Despite knowing or imagining the reaction, despite how little he wanted to speak to anyone- he still called. He had to know if the others had survived. He had to let the other know he'd survived.

The comm was joined immediately.

_«XL-2M99?»_

Dreadwing. The seeker did not wear surprise well. It tore down his stoic thickheaded presence so characteristic of him.

_«I'm alive»_ he said, at a loss of what else to say. _«Are the others...»_

It took a moment for Dreadwing to find words.

_«The warship has crashed on the Sea of Rust. Casualties are still being reported. It...was not as deadly as it could have been. But you- how are you speaking with me? Did you escape the autobot? Where-»_

It was just going to be a stream of questions, wasn't it? XL-2M99 didn't want to hear them. They made his spark ache and he did not know why.

_«No. I'm trapped in their base. It's on Earth.»_

There was victory in the seeker's voice when he replied. _«Soundwave knows the location; it was how we took the autobot medic. I will use the spacebridge to go there.»_

No.

_«Do what you must to remain safe. I will be there shortly.»_ Dreadwing sounded so earnest. XL-2M99 hated it. He hated him. He wanted him here. The idea of this rescue- it was appealing. It was appealing and it could not be. The decepticon second-in-command could not leave the army in such a time of emergency. They certainly could not leave only to be killed by the team of autobots waiting outside this flimsy door.

_«No.»_ The vehicon ground his helm in tighter to his knees._ «You can't leave them. All the others, they need you. They need you alive.»_

Dreadwing growled. _«I cannot leave my brother in the clu-»_

Though the seeker would not hear it over the commline, XL-2M99 slammed his servos down onto the floor. It sent pain up his wrist joints. He did it again.

_«Shut up!»_ he cried._ «Don't say it.»_

It had been easy to see it.

It had been so, so easy. But XL-2M99 ignored the affection because it went unnamed. He could not ignore it if it _was_ named by the other.

_«I am not your brother»_ the vehicon snapped.

The force rolled up his wrists again. The floor shrunk down under his blows.

As quickly as the energy came, it left. XL-2M99 fell against his legs, arms limp, servos unfeeling. The shaking returned, but now- now it was convulsions, it was uncontrollable, it felt like grief instead of fear and fear because it was grief and why why _why_ was he grieving this?

_«You wanted us all to- you wanted, what? company? sparks that could take your missing half's pain away? Don't make me into that. Don't make me- don't-»_

Internal comm or not, his voice could not stop shaking either.

_«It's dangerous. Haven't you realized that? It's clouding your judgement. The humans that took my friends, the autobots that took me, they're dangerous. Your attempts at rescue are dangerous. You rush in when you could be killed. Even if you're not killed, you edge one step closer to getting replaced.»_ XL-2M99 tried to force his vents open again.

_«I do not-»_

_«Do you know what would happen with you gone?»_ the vehicon interrupted.

Dreadwing was respectfully quiet. He was always so stupidly respectful, even to drones.

Unless he was upset. Then, he broke down on the floor of his room like he had after M.E.C.H., when they had burned energon for the lost.

That was what was at risk.

That was too important to risk.

_«We _need_ you alive to stay alive. You being gone would put us in danger.»_

_«I would not do anything to endanger you or our brethren»_ Dreadwing swore.

It was a lifeline to grasp. It was a lie.

It was testable.

_«Are you sure?»_ XL-2M99 heard himself ask.

He could practically see the way the seeker would blow his chest up, probably smack it with an arm- always so official. Old and tired, yes, but full of proud airs.

_«I promise you.»_

Bad, bad, silly seeker. Never promise anything in a war, didn't he know? Especially not to a vehicon. They were disposable, here a cycle, gone the next; no promises held, none to swear to either even if you weren't a drone too.

_«I know what happened to your brother.»_ The vehicon moved his arms from their limp position to fold around his head. He shouldn't be saying this. He'd hid it precisely because he knew what it would cause Dreadwing to do.

So that was his promise? If it could be upheld, then maybe- just perhaps- XL-2M99 could let himself lax. He did not want to be called a brother, but that was the only term of attachment Dreadwing could comprehend; he realized that.

But if it was a lie, then the seeker was the type to rush the autobot base or act out against Megatron's favored one. Then he would die. Then XL-2M99 would congratulate himself on keeping the officer an arm's length away.

_«Your real brother»_ he continued, _«not all of us you're using as stand ins for him.»_

_«I do not understand.»_ Dreadwing said after a moment. _«All of those on the warship know what happened to my twin. He was killed by the autobots.»_

There was still pain there too, wasn't there; it was evident in the way the seeker's voice darkened at the word killed.

_«I mean after»_ XL-2M99 denied. _«I mean what happened to his grave and body.»_

He shouldn't be saying this.

He strung the words along regardless.

He was an idiot.

_«He...his grave...he has a grave here? Why did Lord Megatron not tell me?»_ the seeker said in confusion.

Because-

XL-2M99 laughed through the stress, just once, as choked as it was.

Because Megatron knew, of course. Just like he knew how the remaining twin would react; and that reaction would be of no use to the warlord.

_«Because it's gone»_ he answered. _«Because Starscream threw dark energon into that grave and let your undead twin tear it away.»_

There was a silence that made him nauseous.

_«Skyquake...Starscream defiled his grave? His body?»_

Another inappropriate giggle sounded. It was everything he should not do and so it came. This was all topsy-turvy anyways, wasn't it? Say what he'd hid because of the reactions just so those reactions would not occur- what was he thinking?

_«I saw it in the cortical psychic patch»_ he confirmed.

_Now what will you do?_

_Follow what you blindly believe yourself capable of and try so hard to convince me likewise?_

There was another silence. It lasted too long.

_«Dreadwing.»_

No, no, see? See? But he no longer wanted to see.

_«Dreadwing!»_

The voice that finally responded was strained.

_«I am here»_ the seeker replied.

Thank Primus.

_«What will you do now?»_ XL-2M99 shoved out of his seated position, even though the other couldn't see him do it. Even though the other couldn't see him plead through a language unspoken.

_«Skyquake's honor has been disgraced»_ Dreadwing growled.

No no no- idiot. Him, Dreadwing, it didn't even matter now.

_«So you'll go after Starscream?»_ the vehicon spoke desperately. _«You'll never last. Megatron won't let you. He's the only one allowed to hurt that mech. The others that try always die.»_

Airachnid was recent proof of that, wasn't she?

_«You promised you wouldn't do anything that would put us in danger? Then don't do anything that'll get you killed; don't abandon your post to come for me and don't go after Starscream. Don't end up like your brother.»_

The dark room was hardly friendly to the open arms he used to plead to the unseen officer with. XL-2M99 slid down to the floor again.

_«I'm not sure we could take it.»_

_I'm not sure _I_ could._

* * *

_AN- Liberties were taken with the canon provided in the Covenant of Primus. Here, predacons came out of the Well some time before cybertronians did (but after Primus had created the original Thirteen). That, or Predaking's predessecor did not take notice of cybertronians until later._


	85. A Final Consultation

Cybertronians were a species wrought with war and spread over galaxies. Some were found at depots and commerce hubs; integrated among aliens comfortably and avoiding any other cybertronians they found. Some were found on worlds hidden away; staying in isolation and loneliness because it was preferable to bringing the war back to them. Some remained on ships traversing around dark corners of space looking for enemies; for them, the war was very alive.

And then there were two worlds.

Two very special worlds to cybertronians, whether they knew it or not.

One theirs- the other everything theirs was not.

A thesis and its antithesis.

Here, the war waged on in its final breaths. Here, legend clashed with legend atop the remains of all that made their struggle possible.

Primus and Unicron.

Cybertronians and Humanity.

These worlds hosted a few members of a rare species:

A scientist investigated the work of another expert and found true resurrection possible for his molding for the first time.

A neutral and a scout returned from the dead surface of their birth world to one so full of life.

A commander left behind a laboratory of atrocity without finishing the official investigation, distantly optimistic that his leader's hope would amount to the finish of this long war.

An autobot and the last remaining predacon sat among the dead geology of the Sea of Rust.

A seeker tore from the deck of a downed warship and slid down to a nearby plateau to roar into the sky.

A medic left the fields of Cybertron to rejoin his team, waiting and ready for the autobots to win the war again.

A group of humans watched their cyberbiological counterparts prepare for a fight and hoped that they would see each face again.

A Prime heard the news brought to him by his old friend and caught the disapproval subtly evident in that friend's decision to help their old enemy. He wondered if his decision to value an innocent species over the revival of his own was misplaced. He knew from the collective, powerful, ancient whispers of the Matrix within that it was not.

And a planet's distance away, a warlord considered two worlds he thought were halves of a whole- creation and destruction- god and god- and deluded himself into believing he was stronger than both separate pieces together; and that shaping both to his whim to be the ultimate proof of that delusion.

* * *

The waiting game was nothing new to her.

But there was still something especially helpless about this. She'd grown rather attached to Ratchet. He was a professional and that was familiar in a world with aliens who sometimes acted as immature as her teenage child. He was experienced and that spoke volumes of his ability. He was patient, even if he was also impatient on the regular, and that was what let her spend time in his medbay hearing a breakdown of cybertronian medical procedures.

There was nothing she could personally do to try to track the medic down on an alien planet thats lack of atmosphere would probably kill her instantly.

There was something she _could_ do, though. She could ask her rather unexpected _responsibilities_ (the 'fan club', as Jack referred to them as) to aid the autobots. It wasn't like they had anything better to do; the insecticons wanted to be around far more than Jasper (or poor agent Fowler, trying to run interference and keep the military from trying to take the alien bugs away) wanted them to. She would ask them to remain by the base and then be woken up in the middle of the night by the cries of the neighborhood when all four tried to curl up around the suburban house. Jack was spending extra time away just to avoid them and June happened to miss her son enough as is. There were four of them and that number was a good third of the autobot team anyways; sending them to Cybertron to help find Ratchet would've been convenient and let her feel a little less helpless in the emergency.

There were a few problems keeping that from happening.

For one, going to Cybertron would have meant going into the vicinity of the decepticon army. June still didn't know how the whole 'queen' thing worked, but Scalewing managed to enunciate plainly enough that going near Megatron would be a _bad thing_ for them.

For another, they just didn't feel like going. They had no attachment to autobots or Ratchet or even the war. She asked if they could go, they said if she wanted them to, and overall the mood felt so much like getting a child to do something they didn't want to. June gave up trying. So long as the insecticons weren't waiting in the hospital parking lot (like two of them had decided to 'surprise' her by doing recently, causing a mass panic), then she'd pulled her teeth of the day. Jack had already been her obstinate child. She didn't need four more the size of houses.

So the autobots had gone alone.

Miko had attempted to convince them all to let her follow in the strange armor that apparently worked for her. Fowler and June had promptly shut that down. The agent kept a close eye on her after that to make sure the teen didn't sneak off to find her armor anyways.

The frustration she'd expressed had been that the team wasn't using all of their resources; no insecticons, no 'apex' armor, the like. Seeing as it was Miko expressing this frustration, it was easy to see that her actual problem with the plan had been that she didn't get to play a fighting role in it.

Sometimes, Miko concerned her.

All the worrying relaxed when Ratchet's voice called them. When he came through their spacebridge safe and sound, June no longer felt her abdomen clutching up tensed like it had before. Of course, the anxiety came later- but that was when the entire team had planned to leave once more.

There was an air to it that she wasn't used to. It just felt so final.

And she hoped- if those airs were correct- that she wouldn't be seeing these faces for the last time.

* * *

It was easy to find the other.

Just follow the sounds of rage and brute stupidity and-? Voila. Starscream dipped down through the air to shoot towards the blue shape on a nearby plateau.

The air commander transformed cleanly and rose from his crouch to glare at the 2IC.

Dreadwing did not look his way. If not for the stiffness of his frame, he would have thought the blue mech hadn't noticed his arrival.

"Soundwave pinged you a breem ago," Starscream sneered. "What sort of second in command ignores that sort of summons?"

The other was very carefully not looking at him.

Aw, was he ashamed of his failure as an officer? Or just too '_superior_' to deign looking at the _lowly_ air commander.

"So he sent you- " Dreadwing spat the word "-to retrieve me?"

In the past, those twins were always insufferable.

Now, the survivor was irritatingly adaptable to all the perks of his command position.

"Megatron, actually." The smaller mech crossed his arms.

Take that, _mr. high and mighty._ Ignoring a summons from Megatron himself? Dreadwing would be on the fast track for being taken on a field trip to an abandoned mine if he did.

Instead of going appropriately apologetic, Dreadwing pulled his great sword free.

That wasn't right.

The blue seeker looked over his blade slowly. Calmly. Faux calm, if Starscream could recognize manipulation at all; it was all acting.

"What do you think Me- Lord Megatron would do if you were to fail in returning with me?"

That could be read as the suicidal musing of one tempted to sit on his own sword.

Or it could just be a bald threat.

Starscream felt nervous despite himself. He was better armed than this mech, but the other was better suited at close combat. And currently they felt all too close.

"I-" how to spin this? how to convince the other that trying to kill his one threat to the first lieutenant post was a fragging stupid idea? "I'm not sure I follow," Starscream stepped ever so slightly back.

Dreadwing's optics traced up from his sword to glare at him.

"I think you do."

Well scrap. He _was_ being threatened. It was only a matter of time, he supposed. Had the positions been reversed, he would have been aiming on relocating or killing both Dreadwing and Shockwave (as they were the biggest threat to the 2IC position).

"Our master is quite against shows of infighting," Starscream stated and could not escape the irony of the words. "Both against him and those that officers will sometimes- foolishly- try against each other."

Perhaps it was just something about the 2IC post. Perhaps it just bred insubordination; the taste of power revealed its fangs or the position allowed for the rosy lies of the decepticon leadership to slide away from view.

Either way, so many who had held it did find themselves conspiring against Megatron.

Starscream, amused, wondered if it was that power or if it was a slight that was sending Dreadwing in that direction. Somehow, the former didn't seem as likely for such a boring mech; he was the last mech Starscream expected to approach him with a coup plan. So he'd seen something that disillusioned him, had he? Oh, what fun. What fun indeed. A pity how quickly this one would be demoted- leaving behind a power vacuum once more. A _pity_ indeed.

His amusement filtered away when he took a closer look at the mech. He. He wasn't reacting right to the careful statement. He was too still.

The earlier fear trickled back.

"Er. So think closely about attempting that," he looked uncomfortably at the blade. "I'm sure we could find a reasonable way to resolve any insubordination you're considering."

Dreadwing's servo clenched around its hilt tighter still.

A long moment passed. Then the larger seeker sheathed the blade once more. The servos spasmed around air now that they had no hilt to grip.

"No," he denied.

No explanations offered. Glitch.

"Are you quite done?" the air commander asked and pointed back to the Nemesis. "We do have a schedule to maintain and having outbursts aren't on that plan."

Jaw gritted, Dreadwing took a step towards the edge of the plateau. He was rather obvious in his determination to not look at the other.

Before transforming, he growled out his enigmatic frustration with the day.

"The decepticons are not what they once were."

Starscream side-eyed him. "You're now figuring this out?" he drawled.

Dreadwing glared out over the Sea of Rust.

"Those who have no honor crawl to the top while those with loyalty are left as pawns to whatever mad plan is most desired?"

And there had been, undeniably, quite a few of those mad plans lately. Unicron, dark energon, predacon clones; Megatron was more apt than ever to experiment.

_"Disgraceful."_

"Often times mindless as well. Strategy is bypassed for blind loyalty. But-" Starscream offered a convincing smile of 'camaraderie' that he knew neither shared. "-think of it this way: what the decepticons currently stand for is still far superior to the alternatives."

And any decepticon 2IC that thought otherwise was not worthy to lead this army at all.

Which, of course, only left one potential candidate for the job.

Just as it always had.

* * *

Ratchet faced the team and all the stress of the cycle was pushed aside to be dealt with later. This was still an emergency.

"Megatron has managed to rebuild the omega lock onboard his warship."

He'd seen it with his own optics. It was startlingly close to finishing, if not there already (unless the crash had crushed it). It was dangerous in decepticon servos and yet it was the best news Ratchet could've seen: a way to revive Cybertron available for whatever victor took it.

"How?" Arcee's optics had widened. "How would it even work?"

Without the power of the ancients at play? Ratchet scoffed. The power of the ancients was a great starting place, but it never tended to stop science from catching up.

"Shockwave has discovered a way to create cybermatter," he explained.

With no small help on his part. That was an apology for another time.

"A combination of CNA and synthetic energon makes pure, artificial cybermatter that can be fired from the omega lock," Ratchet continued. "They needed me to stabilize the synthetic energon formula. I tried to scrub my success from their system, but I'm not sure how long that'll keep them from the stabilized formula."

There was a silence while that sunk in. The team wore different expressions of subdued surprise. Some, like Bulkhead, looked completely taken off guard. Some, like Knock Out, did not look surprised at all. Which was odd, Ratchet thought. He himself had certainly been shocked when Shockwave first showed him that sample of cybermatter and Megatron showed off the rebuilt omega lock.

"But wait." Smokescreen looked confused. "Should we stop them? Why not let them finish rebuilding the omega lock and then try to take it?"

Lounging nearby, Wheeljack grinned. "Kid's right. Last time, it took that predacon to take the lock from us. Bumblebee and Knock Out have both separately said it won' be doin' that this time. There won' be anythin' to stop Optimus from usin' his secret weapon to scare all the cons away from the lock."

And with the warship already downed, it would be simple enough to spacebridge Optimus to the omega lock to make good on that threat.

The Prime looked neutral on the suggestion.

"Ratchet," he turned to the medic. "When do you believe this omega lock will be ready for firing?"

Wasn't that the big question of the cycle.

"Could be ready now," Ratchet said. "Or it could be smashed to bits under the crash. I'm not sure."

There really was no saying.

"But we could repair it if it has been crushed," the medic added. "I can try to find Shockwave's blueprints. If we leave it to the decepticons to finish, we could be allowing them time to finish repairing the warship and give them the full advantage."

"Optimus could take it down again," Arcee countered.

True, but unconvincing.

"And that could crush the second omega lock again, which puts us right back to here," Ratchet argued.

Optimus hummed thoughtfully. The small noise caught everyone's attention and left the team waiting for his words.

It was up to him to decide whether to wait and allow Shockwave to finish his project or strike now and attempt it themselves.

One risky option, one safe one.

Ratchet knew his friend well enough to know exactly which one Optimus would choose.

"I concur with Ratchet," the Prime finally said.

He looked over his team (excluding Bumblebee, though he was listening over the comms and swore he was available to join as soon as Ratchet replaced him). They were already armed from the rescue mission. They were ready for action. They were ready to take the warship while it was weak.

"We will strike while the advantage is ours. We will not allow the decepticons a chance to win again."

* * *

The omega lock had taken minor damage. He'd set the vehicons to work repairing it and felt confident they would finish within the cycle.

Then Shockwave busied himself with a part of this lock far more important: the cybermatter.

He requested a bridge from Soundwave from his current location to the medbay. It would hardly be logical to drive through damaged and evacuated levels.

Once there, he took in the mess clinically. All things considered, the crash could have done worse and the predacon could have torn through here. Shockwave did not consider himself an optimist. He was a realist. It just so happened that his view of realism left him feeling that opportunities for success were everywhere. Why else had he been the only scientist to revisit the lost spacebridge technology or the extinct predacons? Others simply did not view failure logically. Mistakes, accidents, crashes: they were ways to learn and adapt.

The laboratory was damaged. It was hardly unsalvageable.

The autobot left a smoke trail. It was hardly impossible to overcome.

_They said it couldn't be done_ was exactly _what_ made _it_ possible.

Shockwave combed through the improved, stable formula and sent it to the drones controlling the hyperacceleration technology besides the omega lock. Then he requested another bridge to the decepticon leader. His information was more important than whatever illogical whining Starscream was no doubt subjecting the warlord to.

Per his form, Soundwave obliged. The scientist stepped through the portal and found himself in one of the briefing rooms on the upper deck. Megatron was there. The other officers were as well. Starscream was, indeed, speaking. Dreadwing stood nearby with clenched fists: his body language radiated withheld aggression. It was directed towards the smaller seeker, even if neither of the other mechs in the room saw it. Unsurprising; all four of these mechs (or perhaps three; Soundwave did not seem emotional. It was one of his most valuable qualities) tended to live on the emotional and such passions did not allow for accurate reading of body language anymore than it did vocal.

While Shockwave hardly cared about the reasons why the 2IC was angry, he automatically felt that such anger was hardly unjustified. It was directed at Starscream, after all.

"Ah, Shockwave," Megatron interrupted all else to face him. "Have you disentangled the autobot's false trail yet?"

The scientist nodded. Of course he had.

"And I have run the discoveries through spectra analysis; it confirmed that the synthetic energon formula is now complete."

The autobot was good, but not good enough to scrub his trail. It was easy enough to find the formula that Ratchet had finished. The work was commendable. A pity the autobot was so intrinsically tied within the autobot army.

"And your timetable for production?" Megatron asked.

Satisfactory.

"With the aid of hyperacceleration technology," the scientist gave a small gesture. "-not long."

The warlord smirked.

"Good. Now, we have only to get our warship airborne once more."

The others began to speak once again. Suggestions, complaints; they were focused in on the engines of the ship. How long repairs would take. A quick passing of dark energon (again, apparently) was debated- ultimately shut down because there were no engine blocks to fuel with dark energon-, a recommendation for waiting for another ship to answer the transmissions sent out before the destruction of the first omega lock- too risky and unknown-, and the like.

"If I might suggest," Shockwave interjected.

The other officers went silent when Megatron turned to him.

"-why not take the ship into the air now?"

Predictably, Starscream made a show of rolling his optics up.

"Because every engine room we've had is scrap now," he mocked. "Did you not understand that part?"

What he felt at Starscream's taunts and how he knew they would shrivel once he revealed his true meaning was...illogical. But satisfactory regardless.

"Production of cybermatter is well underway. We have enough to fire the omega lock already." Shockwave prefaced, before asking: "Why should we not first fire it on the warship itself?"

A pair of claws went to Megatron's chin thoughtfully. His optics gleamed.

And, as predicted, Starscream wilted.

"And repair the ship as I see fit," the warlord mused. He dropped his servo again and looked the scientist in the optic.

"Exemplary work, Shockwave. See to it we do."


	86. Storm Breaking

_AN- First scene is a flashback._

_Thank you to everyone who reviews! They're very appreciated._

* * *

What was important was getting out of here before it was too late. And who knew how much time that left him with. No one was responding to comms, no one was giving shipwide addresses...Frag, even Soundwave was unresponsive to calls. If that mech had been taken out-

Well, it'd be easy for him to be.

Just like Breakdown: here a minute, gone the next.

He briefly wondered what death was like before giving up on the thought; it just was too incomprehensible to even bother trying to wonder about. He was _always_ there. He had no view of the world before his sparking and wouldn't have any after. By all intents and purposes, that was like saying the world hadn't existed before and couldn't after. But since the world _would_ continue on, then obviously something had to give. The easiest solution was _his_ continued existence.

And his continued existence was at risk that longer he stayed in this stupid slagshow.

He was out. Goodbye, so long. See ya never again.

Starscream? No hard feelings.

Megatron? He could do without ever seeing him again.

Soundwave? ...yeah right.

All in all, he wouldn't miss the people here. His quarters? Yes. His accessories? Oh, what a shame. What a shame it was to run from comfort.

Going rogue on the planetside just wouldn't be any fun on his own. It had been fine to not have quarters and accessories when he'd been Earthside before, but that was when Breakdown was with him. Now it'd probably be him hiding in some disgusting dirty place while the victors searched for him. Really, a cell on the _Nemesis_ sounded more comfortable than that misery.

The noises and gunfire had tapered down. The drive to the escape pods went unhindered. The escape pods themselves...weren't there.

Well, slag.

The con turned around and raced for the groundbridge control room.

No one was there to operate it. Knock Out investigated the controls and wondered how hard they could be to activate without accidentally causing metal burn or some other unappealing side effect.

When he finally decided to go for it anyways, the medic found a different problem: the controls said he was too far out of range to use the groundbridge on Earth.

So they were flying away.

Lovely. He was trapped. He was well and truly fragged. How long could he hide in the _Nemesis_ before the autobots noticed he was there? Probably not long enough. It was an amusing thought, but he just didn't have good odds for being the warship's resident ghost con.

If hiding was unlikely and escape was out of the question, that left- he had to shudder- _surrender_. To autobots that may very well shoot first without realizing that's what he'd shown up to do; and, if they didn't, then they would stick him in a drab cell forever- no more racing, no more buffing, no more of anything that made life thrilling. Hiding still sounded more appealing. But revealing himself on his terms sounded like a more likely way to make it out of this alive.

Nervous, he made his way to the bridge of the warship and put on his best pose of confidence.

When you act like you belong, you do.

Knock Out gave one slow clap and put a smile on his face. It said, plainly, _I belong here._ I'm meant to be here, clapping, applauding, crossing my arms casually, smiling at your victory.

And if I'm meant to belong here, you'd better make sure you think twice about gunning me down instinctively.

"_Ah_."

He kept the smile and confidence and started to believe it wasn't so ungrounded after all. He _was_ meant to make it out of this alive.

When all the autobots spun to look at him, they were suitably off guard by that confidence. None shot him down. Not a single trigger happy autobot.

"Such _luster_," he finished his verbal applause and felt himself hopeful that he'd be alive in another few minutes as well.

* * *

"So is this-" Breakdown waved in an adaptable gesture. "I mean, are you worried about this?"

He meant, is this all according to plan?

Pretty much. Despite changes here and there, the makings of the last showdown were still present. One repaired omega lock, one kidnapped and rescued autobot medic, one angry predacon: seemed like last time.

With less fleeing and panic on his part.

"Only the reasonable amount of worry," he answered.

It made his partner smile and shake his head.

"I still can't believe you've done this already."

Really? Because Knock Out thought he'd adjusted to the truth pretty fast.

"I'll admit that this time around feels infinitely better already," the medic joked. There was no running for his life this time. Watching his options for a comfortable life flick off one by one had been all very miserable.

Breakdown smirked. "I know it will be for me."

Oh right. And there'd been no Breakdown last time. Knock Out smiled at him.

"You just keep yourself alive too," his partner prodded him. Their servos grabbed briefly after the ribbing motion.

"Ditto to you-" Knock Out shot back.

The last time Breakdown had died, he hadn't really noticed. His upset manifested in strange ways at unexpected times. Yes, he was convinced he didn't deserve to go through any of the grief he did- why couldn't Breakdown have kept that in mind before off and dying?- but now.

Now his mind had put pieces together. It wasn't just him that'd be affected by that death. It would be Bumblebee and the wreckers maybe and possibly even the human nurse.

He supposed his death would have ripples too. It had better.

But it was better to just avoid those ripples altogether.

Besides. They were amicas now. Life couldn't just interrupt them when they were better than ever. That would be ridiculously unfair.

* * *

He was able to make two more calls before the medic returned and demanded the transmitter.

One was to XL-3T09 to confirm that the flyer had survived the crash.

After that, he'd stayed quiet in the storage room and listened to the autobots words when they carried down the hall.

Security was so lax here. It was practically a joke. He had to wonder how the autobots were putting up such a fight at all.

Not that their plans were very concrete strategies. He could try to call Soundwave himself to spill their strategy, but the most he could do was say they were going to the warship to attack. It wasn't like that was _news_ to the decepticons.

Even so, he had one single capability to aid his faction and he'd be damned if he didn't take it.

The last autobot XL-2M99 wanted outside his hiding place was the medic, so of course that was the one who came down the hall and rapped on the door.

"I need that transmitter back," the autobot said.

He'd panicked ever slightly after that. The last call he'd made sent out then.

Thankfully, there was little wait time for Dreadwing to open the commline.

_«They're going to attack»_ XL-2M99 wasted no time. _«Will you protect the others if they do manage to overwhelm the ship?»_ he allowed himself to ask.

It wasn't fair to put that weight on one officer.

It wasn't fair of one warlord to put all of his fellow vehicons in danger without care.

So what did he have to use as a standard?

The knock rapped again, this time more impatiently. XL-2M99 shuddered to think of what the medic would do if he got suitably impatient.

_«I have my duty»_ Dreadwing answered. _«A duty to my master and a duty to the army I am a lieutenant of.»_

Had he a mouth, the vehicon would have smiled from relief.

_«They're taking my communication. I will try to aid however I can.»_

Not that he could do much. Not more than wait here and worry.

He turned over and picked the little transmitter up again.

It had been an unexpected comfort, all things considered. He braced the door open a crack and slid the transmitter out.

Judging by the way the autobot waited outside even after retrieving the device, the bot wanted to speak. XL-2M99 was uneasy while he waited for whatever words the medic may say now.

To his relief, the autobot retreated after never finding words.

The vehicon waited alone in his makeshift safe spot, resigned to being a captive while the warship was attacked once more.

* * *

The sound of a bridge interrupted the current song and dragged both mechs' attention away from it.

Predaking tilted his head up to look at the skylight.

"Your medic?" he asked.

"_Yup_," Bumblebee answered. About damn time.

Not that he was rushing to get away per se. There was something about being near someone who admitted to being little more than a youngling (by experience) that was magnetic to the scout. He hadn't really gotten a chance to be around younglings before. Just like he hadn't been able to be one, none of the others around him had gotten that chance either. The two in the vent had briefly mentioned it between quieter moments of music. It seemed Predaking felt more at ease admitting that 'weakness' about himself after he was told Bumblebee was rather young too. By cybertronian standards, at least.

The scout turned his records off and stood. Though the other didn't know it, he'd been double tasking quite nicely for the last few breems. Part of him listened to the music and whatever words Predaking occasionally offered; part of him listened through the team commline to the autobot stratagem.

Finally, Ratchet was ready to swap places with him. Bumblebee would be heading to the warship to attack the decepticons in their most defended base of operations. Unbidden, Knock Out's little pep talk came back and made him frown uncomfortably. He wasn't really sure what to do with any of that, so he tried to shove it all asside.

_"He'll be here as soon as he figures out how to climb down,"_ the scout joked. Judging by the predacons flat expression, he did not quite understand the tease directed at Ratchet. _"And he'll get you feeling better soon."_

"So that you can try to persuade me to join you?" Predaking asked.

The suspicion hurt.

_"We'll all want peace with you. It doesn't mean we'll hound you to officially join us. It's not impossible to exist on this planet without all being on one 'team',"_ he replied honestly.

The earlier glare had softened a good couple of breems ago. Now, Predaking looked confused. "How can that be?" he muttered. "Do you really believe it possible?"

Would he have believed it possible that the predacon wasn't against Earth music? Life was all about surprises. Those were what really let an optimist function on.

_"I'd like to think so."_

The regal mech struggled forward from his support.

"You have answers for everything, little scout," Predaking mused. "And I have questions that none have answered for me before."

Bumblebee smiled unseen under his mask. He liked to think his optics carried the expression.

_"We'll get a chance to talk again,"_ he reassured. Predaking hesitantly relaxed back to the wall again.

The scout slipped back up through the crack and through the waiting bridge.

* * *

Things came one after another in rapid succession.

After the briefing, Ratchet had prepared to replace Bumblebee on Cybertron. Before he could do that, he had to take the transmitter from the vehicon. Letting a decepticon speak with his allies unmonitored had hardly been ideal, but Ratchet hadn't had time to stress over the dilemma of having promised the communicator and his need to brief the team.

Then he had swapped places with Bumblebee. The scout had slipped through the bridge behind him while Ratchet was still looking for the safest way to drop into the dead vent where the predacon was sitting.

Couldn't he have had the courtesy to not hide in such inaccessible places? He grumbled to himself. He was too old for gymnastics like this.

Just when he'd finally found a place he felt would hold his weight while he lowered himself and his medkit-

-a shockwave rumbled ever so slightly. The world brightened ever so much.

Ratchet turned around in his crouch and gaped at the crashed warship.

Light was crawling over it quickly. In its wake lay a fresh purple hull, solid walls-

It had been cyberformed. Those maniacs had cyberformed their own ship.

Metal groaned even from this far away. The _Nemesis_ struggled up from its own crater, more smooth the higher it rose.

So much for keeping it grounded.

It wasn't the end. The defense systems may still be offline. An outer systems repair wouldn't affect the intricacies of different defense systems. He had to hope so; that was their only ticket onto the ship.

_«The warship is airborne.»_

In an emergency, the team tended to all start speaking at once. Ratchet ignored them and focused only on the Prime.

_«How?»_ Optimus sounded distressed, although it was controlled.

_«They've cyberformed their own ship»_ he answered. _«They've fired the omega lock on it.»_

The predacon below mumbled something at him that Ratchet ignored. He did not mean to ignore the words, but a concurrent event stole all of his attention:

In the sky, a vortex large enough to admit the warship opened.

_No._

_«Optimus, you must hurry»_ Ratchet added. _«Megatron must be preparing to cyberform Earth.»_

It was the only reasonable assumption for why the warship was spacebridging away from Cybertron's surface.

Of course Cybertron was not enough. The whole universe would not be enough for Megatron's greed.

Ratchet would not be able to stop him. His place was here, at a medical emergency. He could not play a role in fighting on the warship; not much of one, at least.

So he would have to wait back and hope.

* * *

On Earth, the autobot team tensed in preparation.

Raf worked at tracking the moving ship on another planet. They would need to bridge to seperate locations onboard. Each team would work on disabling important parts- or people- on the _Nemesis_.

Though they'd fight separately, the goal would be the same:

This time, the decepticons would not get another chance to rise up again.

Weapons ready, the team moved through Raf's bridge.

* * *

_«Members of Team Prime»_ Optimus spoke to them all. _«-autobot and human, it has been my honor to lead you.»_

They had all been exemplary autobots. The many fallen would be proud of those who still stood and fought a losing battle.

_«On this day, the fates of two worlds hang in the balance»_

There was an inescapable interplay between both worlds. They held equal importance in this war and the lore of both intertwined species.

But more important was the fact that they held life on them both. Such life- no matter its organic or cybertronian origins- was to be protected. A Prime did not just lead his people; he was to protect all sentient creatures from those very people.

_«And the battle to come may very well be our last. But for Earth, for Cybertron, for our comrades on both worlds...»_

For the dead and the living. For an extended war that must be halted. For all those lost and all those that could still be saved.

_«-we must take the Decepticon warship.»_

* * *

The warship had never been more intuned with his desires. This, unlike the brief incident with dark energon, left only his mind in a position of power. He designed the cybermatter and it formed to his designs.

It was not symbiosis, but it was far better.

Until the alarms rang out.

They hadn't even departed Cybertron and already Optimus was trying to stop him.

Soundwave showed the autobot team rushing to different locations on board the ship.

No doubt in an attempt to disable the omega lock once more. Megatron growled. It seemed Optimus knew nothing of doing the best for their planet.

Little matter.

The relic of Prima that could kill him so easily was hilted on the Prime's back.

No matter. None at all.

So his enemy would pull all stops for his precious organic charity-cases?

It could mean the end of this warship for good. The predacon had dealt great damage, but that sword had cut a mountain in two. It could do the same from the interior of the _Nemesis_. To the omega lock. To himself.

This time, he had nothing to meet its might with. Nothing but his wits.

"If Optimus Prime wishes to wage a battle for the fate of both Earth and Cybertron, then I shall oblige him," Megatron spat out. Soundwave listened; Starscream's optics widened. They both heard the finality in his words.

"This _will_ be our last stand."


	87. I'm Proud Of You

Brainstorm tilted his cube around and watched the energon roll from one side to another. It was probably lucky they had any at all. Apparently, the moon had a decent supply. The small life forms on it chemosynthesized from the energon traces. Brainstorm didn't exactly loose any recharge from taking some for himself. Knock Out couldn't say he did either.

"So you were there at the end, weren't you?" the scientist asked rhetorically. He already knew. The reports were available to anyone who dug for them.

"It's not as though I saw much," Knock Out shrugged. "I got to watch the omega lock firing, but all the battlefield excitement happened while I was otherwise occupied on the ship."

Almost a pity. It would have been impressive to see the final fight with his own optics. It also would have been far from good for his stress. All in all, he was satisfied with the videos he saw later.

"I did get to see clips of the showdown," he added.

The other tilted his cube around once again. It was something of a habit. It let him move even while he'd been told (forced) by the medic to sit down and intake fuel.

"Is it true that Megatron came back from the dead and told the decepticons to stand down?" Brainstorm asked. "Most say the message was faked."

One single memo didn't seem to do the trick. The ex-warlord had sent it out and then disappeared forever. Lotta good it did. None of the cons actually stood down when he wasn't around in person to tell them the order hadn't been an autobot trick.

"I was right there when it happened."

The way the scientist's optics crinkled belied some sort of an expression. A smile, most likely. Judging by his tone in his next words, it wasn't a very happy smile.

"He should've been killed a long time before." Brainstorm stopped spinning the cube. His servos were pinching its containment. "He should never have gotten the chance to start this war."

There was definitely something personal there. Knock Out determined to dig around sometime else.

"So why would anyone think it's a good idea to keep trying it again?" the scientist laughed. "I know I'm smart, but I swear everyone else is more idiotic than they used to be."

He didn't even drop a _present company excluded._

If it wasn't for how much the medic agreed with the sentiment, he would've been insulted.

* * *

They'd surprised him.

Ratchet had called him outside. Like any good subordinate, Knock Out had listened.

The whole team was waiting out there. The CMO gestured him over; there was a tablet in his servo that seemed to have some sort of certification open on its screen.

Like any good, self respecting intelligent being, Knock Out had said "what."

The medic didn't seem impressed by his confusion. He gave a short speech to the waiting crowd and the younger doctor.

When Knock Out repeated his earlier question after the speech was over, the autobot had shook his head.

"You're certified, kid," Ratchet slapped the tablet at him. The red mech caught the thing against his chest absently, mouth fluttering.

"I-I'm not a-"

The older medic scoffed. "Not a kid. I know, I know. Well, you weren't a doctor either: now you are."

Now he was...

The autobots standing around clapped and whooped. They were really quite disruptive when they got started on some sort of excitement. It was so different from the typical dumb rage/boring reservation of the decepticons.

Later, he'd been speaking with Arcee over some high grade and asked what the deal was with all this. Not that he was complaining about the attention. Far from it. But he had a feeling it wasn't just. wasn't just. He didn't know. Wasn't just about giving him attention? That seemed a little odd for the autobots to do out of the blue.

"We're proud of you," Arcee had laughed at his confusion. She lifted her cube at him. "You've passed all Ratchet's criteria without dropping out of his training."

_in my view, you have each acted as a Prime_

It was something special, really. It was something he'd never known with the decepticons.

Pride was familiar.

This, though- this was others taking after their Prime and being proud of _somebody else._ There was no benefit to that. No one got an advantage in life from feeling proud of anyone else.

He wanted to know what that felt like.

He wanted to experience this. Optimus did. The autobots did. And anything they could do...

Much later and he got to be on the receiving end of Optimus Prime's approval again. It was inspiring. So very inspiring.

He wondered what it'd be like to feel it likewise.

* * *

As much as they'd wanted to bridge to different locations, it was asking a lot of Raf (and putting a whole lot of hope that the decepticon warship would continue being traceable).

They all stormed through onto the _Nemesis _flight deck. The attack was met by troopers that were pushed into the halls of the flying warship.

From the planet's surface, Ratchet was giving up the information he knew.

_«The omega lock's control system is located on the lower deck» _the medic directed.

The autobots were forced behind the walls of doorways or other such makeshift cover. Optimus could have carved down the hall with the saber's energy, but there was too much risk to the functional integrity of the warship for that.

_«While some of us take the bridge and navigate us away from Earth, our stealth team will aim for taking the control system.» _

_«Optimus.» _ Arcee's voice entered the commline. _«If we fail to secure the omega lock before it's ready to deploy, do we destroy it?»_

A million dollar question, wasn't it? Judging by Optimus's previous actions, the answer seemed most likely to be _yes_.

_«I do not intend to squander a second chance to restore Cybertron» _the Prime replied.

They lurched out of cover and fought past the batch of vehicons in the hall. Another squad drove them back to ducking safely behind walls soon after.

In actuality, they could have shoved their way through this squadron as well. The fact was, they still needed to finish their plan. Getting on board before the warship spacebridged away was a rush that killed their chance for planning.

_«We'll need heavy hitters to take the bridge» _Arcee strategized. _«No doubt officers like Soundwave are up there, not to mention all the troopers that'll be there.»_

_«Good thinking» _Optimus praised. _«Arcee, with me. We will lead stealth team to the omega lock. Ultra Magnus, lead the wreckers to the bridge.»_

Breakdown paused in his run while they all moved down this next portion of the hall. The stall grabbed Knock Out's attention.

"What is it?" he asked while the whole team was forced to duck into cover from a new assault of vehicons.

His partner's mouth hung open before he found words.

"I can help them," Breakdown finally said. "I'm a heavy hitter."

Yes, but that would mean working with wreckers. They were far from appealing. And it would mean separating them.

For a moment, Knock Out felt a pang of suspicion; stupid Bulkhead had already been dragging Breakdown away, but now Ultra Magnus was going to turn aside the autobot with the code learned inside out for a neutral?

That was the wrong reaction. He kicked the possessive offense aside.

The jealousy over watching Breakdown go off with anyone else willingly out of his own plan (as opposed to watching him disappear out of peripherals whenever Knock Out was the one running off) was similarly kicked away. Or kicked away as best he could.

The weird thing was, without those basic reactions...

It didn't come as a feeling. It didn't rise up out of the blue, no matter how much he felt like it did for others.

He had tried to shove the envy away and then what was left over was just there to analyze.

Breakdown was volunteering to work with people both of them were likely still slightly uncomfortable around. Magnus was fine (fun to mess with, in fact) but Wheeljack had snapped at him on Earth after Bulkhead's injury and Knock Out still hadn't really gotten over it. Bulkhead was fine too, he supposed, but his recent buddying up to the blue mech (and that whole horrible miscommunication he'd shown right in front of the team) left the medic a little threatened.

He was volunteering.

It was his choice to make.

And Knock Out had his own choice he'd made long ago; the one he continued to make (and would always have to continue, if Optimus was right).

He was making a choice to care about other people's plating and feelings, even if it felt handicapped. He was making the choice to let them chose their own lives, even if it meant they wouldn't rotate around him.

This was Breakdown making his own choice.

And...considering what they'd discussed recently-

-then this was no more natural for his partner than it was for him.

But Breakdown was trying to make choices without asking permission or ignoring his own thoughts. As much as Knock Out couldn't really feel the need for that, he could be impressed that the other wasn't picking his own easiest route. Being an autobot was just him enforcing some habits that he'd never have had otherwise. He understood what taking a secondary path was like for himself. It had to be different for Breakdown, but if all he could think of was how it paralleled his own...well, who was to say the end result was any less real?

Even if it wasn't how the others did it, Knock Out decided he could still label his version of what he'd determined to feel based on the information he had.

He was proud of the other- to his own extent of feeling pride for someone over something that wasn't necessarily important to he himself.

The cover they were behind shook. Knock Out shook his own thoughts away. It wasn't really the time for philosophy, was it?

"Don't peeve the commander off," he teased and then pushed his partner out of the cover they'd been sharing. Breakdown took it in stride, running for the wall where the three wreckers were hiding.

And in the meantime, while those guys dealt with the bridge, he'd be joining those taking the omega lock itself.

* * *

Megatron had gone below to the omega lock to face off against the Prime.

The traitor Starscream had gone with him, forever stuck to his leader's side- or vice versa. Dreadwing remembered XL-2M99's warning on the small seeker's protections among the decepticon ranks with revulsion.

Shockwave was already at the control systems below. No doubt he would remain there.

Soundwave was on the bridge. He was the only officer on the bridge.

That left Dreadwing.

He had not received orders from the warlord. Those loyalty protocols that still remained after all he'd witnessed here demanded he go after Megatron. Those loyalty protocols that had shifted over to a different master demanded he go to the bridge and fulfill his duties as a commander in their lord's absence.

Dreadwing wasted valuable time agonizing over which protocol he should adhere to.

* * *

Stealth team pushed their way past all resistance: troopers, the seekers with Starscream they ran into briefly, ambushes. Raf's message had spurned them all on. They had too much fear over what would happen to Jasper- and Earth- if they did not hurry.

They finally reached the locked door leading to the omega lock systems. Optimus had the star saber free in an instant and shoved it through the door. It carved through easily; the Prime kicked the metal hanging on away and moved through the ruined doorway with stealth team right behind him.

Megatron stood right in front of him.

* * *

It almost didn't surprise him how Knock Out had agreed to his plan to separate (even if Knock Out was apt to run off on his own missions without a heads up). Which was to say, there was still surprise there. There would be for a good long time.

It was more of a surprise that the wreckers even let him join. He'd run over to their cover and the motion had gotten Bulkhead's attention. The green mech had reached out to tug him away from the laserfire the minute he'd gotten close. Wheeljack had bristled at his proximity (the distaste was mutual, buddy), but his attention was on the autobot 2IC. Magnus had looked ready to ask him why he was around. He thought it was pretty obvious.

Maybe it was their time press responsible, but Magnus didn't end up questioning it.

He did still address them all as wreckers. It was kinda revolting to hear himself called that, really. Wreckers were his antithesis, even after all these vorns.

_«I need schematics to the bridge» _Magnus sent over the group comm to anyone that may have something.

Both Knock Out and Breakdown sent theirs over immediately. It could possibly have been outdated, but the chances of the ship changing its structure in their absence seemed pretty low.

A ping sent back only a few klicks later showed a path marked in red overlaid on the schematic. Magnus had already started for the first entrance on his route. The others followed at his same pace. None of them were all that fast. Well, except Wheeljack. The white wrecker was sticking to the group, however; most likely cause there wasn't much space to be doing flips around and all. He was flashing the energon whip he'd grabbed at the Earth base. Magnus fired his rifle with a small amount of occasional difficulty (caused by the servo made of scrap metal; when had that happened?). Bulkhead smashed anyone that got too close.

_Heavy hitters_ was a good way to put them all. The vehicons they did run up against in the halls Magnus had picked never stood a chance. That left him feeling rather confident that whatever officers would be on the bridge wouldn't either.

One of the human's voices crackled to life on the comm.

_«You've entered Earth's orbit!» _Raf exclaimed. _«You're- you're headed through the atmosphere over Jasper. I estimate five- maybe ten- minutes before you guys are floating right above our heads.»_

"Scrap," Wheeljack muttered.

Magnus glared at him a moment and Breakdown got the amusing feeling that the other blue mech wanted to say something along the lines of _language _disapprovingly.

"We will need to expedite our mission," he said instead.

They all hurried on after that. Or hurried as much as they could.

It didn't take long to reach the lift to the bridge. Breakdown had to hand it to Magnus: the guy knew how to find the path of least resistance that didn't take them on too many detours to make up for the lack of enemies slowing them down.

"Wreckers-"

They all stepped onto the lift before the commander could finish telling them to. The large mech followed.

The lift was only a half level away from the bridge. It had reached the top and was opening the doors quickly enough.

All vehicons turned to look at them. The single officer present only half turned to look at the invaders. Soundwave.

A battle broke loose immediately after, because of course it did. The troopers may know they didn't stand a chance in most combat situations, but they still always jumped into them.

"Secure the bridge!" Magnus yelled while he fought. They pushed forward over the top of the bridge towards the single officer at navigations.

Soundwave stood there, half facing them, unmoving- the autobot squad charged him down.

And dropped through the groundbridge that opened beneath their pedes.


	88. Crashing Down

On Earth, a small group of humans stood by equipment far too large for them. They listened to the news of their team while the warship above gradually came closer.

"Doesn't seem like they're navigating away from us..." Miko grumbled.

It was, however unfortunately, true.

Since they were worried about distracting everyone when they were trying to save them all, none of the kids actually told the team those grumbles.

Then Ultra Magnus sent a message over the comm to inform Optimus that he and his team would be delayed to the bridge.

Jack jumped on that out of worry. He knew as well as the rest that the autobots wouldn't get to the bridge in time. Granted, if Optimus disabled the omega lock first, then they may not even need navigation.

Raf didn't want to hear his suggestion.

"You won't stand a chance against Soundwave!" the youngest human protested.

It was a rational enough protest. But Jack didn't seem phased. He glanced at their third.

"I will if I have backup."

Miko opened her mouth, shut it, and smiled at him.

* * *

Ultra Magnus pushed up in the green ambiance of an unknown location. There were decepticons nearby. Their presence didn't exactly let them take time to relax and reorient.

The fight that came was short. All those troopers nearby in the room were dispatched easily. With them gone, he tried to take stock of their surroundings. The ambiance permeated through the middle of the room. It was an uncomfortable lighting; that was likely intentional and meant to throw enemies off psychologically.

"Where are we?" he asked.

The defector of the group answered. "This is one of the brigs."

There was a beat of silence. Then Bulkhead laughed.

"You're kidding, right? He just tossed us in the brig?"

It did not, in fact, seem that Breakdown had been kidding.

"Fraggin' Soundwave," Wheeljack growled. "Mech needs to learn how to kill people instead of just tryin' to frustrate them to death."

A rather foolish complaint to make.

Although it seemed that, alive or not, their mission to take navigation down had failed.

Trying to be optimistic, he merely informed the others that they had been delayed rather than that they had failed.

* * *

This was a fragging stupid plan.

His mom was going to ground him for good when she found out about this. Hell, _Arcee_ was going to ground him for however many centuries made up a long amount of time for cybertronians.

Jack hopped out of the groundbridge onto a purple floor and looked up into a good too many sets of guns to ever be comfortable.

The teen grinned and pointed upwards. It was the only warning the cons got before a bulky gray form shot over at them. The apex armor didn't really make her the same size as the other cybertronians, but it still made her more than big enough to pack a punch. Jack stood on the floor of a warship he'd been on a few other times and watched the chaos unfold.

There was a calculating edge to how he watched Soundwave finally move into action. There was a hope that his plan would work that latched the moment the communications officer opened a groundbridge and began to walk it towards the retreating human.

"Raf-" he called. "Showtime!"

_«Are you sure about this Jack?»_ the other responded.

Judging by how Soundwave was pushing Miko back with every step he took forward?

Yes.

_«Last time we crossed the streams-»_

"Do it, Raf. Now!"

At Jack's last yell, a second groundbridge appeared. It roared into life behind the con. Soundwave's helm shot back to stare at it before the energies began to cross. Lights and particles wavered over to the groundbridge they did not belong to. The view of the decepticon blurred while Soundwave himself pushed his other arm towards the autobot vortex as if to hold off the effects of the shadowzone.

But not even he could do that.

* * *

The ship's trajectory shifted.

It was not meant to.

Dreadwing paused to take in that information. Then the seeker broke his run in favor of transforming and shooting down the halls towards the bridge.

* * *

"Optimus!" Megatron began.

So much like he always did.

Behind the warlord, the blue pool of cybermatter was visibly stretched between the omega lock. At his station, Shockwave worked as though he had not noticed the arrival of the autobots. It was his efforts that caused this device to be ready for firing.

Below the omega lock and its pool of cybermatter lay the puffy clouds and distant ground of Earth. Of Jasper. Of Autobot Outpost Omega One. That was no doubt Megatron's target. He would find a sick irony to cyberforming this innocent world at the location of its defender's base.

Optimus charged forward without ceremony. He shoved his opponent while the warlord was still reacting in surprise. It lasted only for a moment; then, Megatron's pedes had curved and their sharp edges tore into the floor. The new leverage allowed him to twist around and throw Optimus towards the edge that he'd almost fallen from.

The Prime could see his autobots sprinting at Shockwave for just a moment. Then, he'd fallen to the surface of the omega lock and could see no more.

Above, Megatron laughed. The noise cut off when energy from the star saber cleaved by his right arm. Off balance, he too tumbled down to the surface.

And Optimus barely had time to notice the yellow and black blurr that joined them before Megatron had slammed into him once more.

* * *

Something was not right.

The world around him was too gray. Soundwave shoved an arm through the autobot's Apex Armor wielding-human and drew it out again. It should not have drawn out with such ease. It should have made contact, not wavered as though through air.

The human said something that he knew was meant for him. Then both had run off to the controls and endeavored to sabotage the decepticon effort.

Soundwave sent Laserbeak at them. He tried to interact with the familiar machines.

Nothing.

It was as though he was not there.

This was a mirror, then.

A _shadowzone_, as the human had taunted.

A world where nothing truly existed and yet he could watch the real one as it moved on without him.

Over the millennias, some had found it entertaining to themselves to call him a phantom. A spirit, roaming unseen, listening always, able to be anywhere at once. They had all been exaggerated explanations of simple enough skills he used. Despite the rumors, he was hardly a phantom.

But now...

For the first time, he truly was a ghost.

And he had no choice but to helplessly watch the humans try to navigate the ship.

* * *

"I think we've got it," Miko said confidently. Jack was surprised with just how right her words felt. Thanks to Raf (and Ratchet, who sounded like he was freaking out over the fact that they were even on the warship's bridge), they'd managed to figure out how to get the thing steering away from Jasper and towards California- or the oceans past California, at any matter.

Now, they just had to hold-

The con doorway slid open and admitted a stream of enemies. The hulking blue seeker charged in through the crowd of vehicons and aimed at him rather than Miko.

That was smart of him.

Also terrifying.

The problem was that the strategy worked. Could they touch the kid in the Apex Armor? Nope. Could they stave her off while they tried their hardest to get at the unarmored fleshy? Unfortunately.

Miko scooped him up when she finally made it over to him.

"We gonna stay and kick their butts?" she asked while she ducked. A vehicon soared overhead. The seeker fired his automatic canon. Yeah, how about no.

"We can't hold this-" Jack shook his head. "We gotta let the wreckers do it."

The teen who didn't have to worry about getting pasted groaned. "Aw man. I could take 'em."

Yeah, not the point. Miko seemed to realize it anyways, seeing as she ran them both through the next bridge Raf managed to open.

* * *

Smokescreen and Knock Out raced for the scientist. They were much, much faster than he was. Smokescreen could be an annoyance anyday; it took no effort on his part. With Shockwave distracted by his irritating habit of phasing through him, Knock Out was free to strike anyway he could.

Or until the scientist had caught on to their little strategy and moved his cannon to the medic.

Earlier, the doors had shot open and a certain seeker sprinted out. He ran to the edge of the deck and looked down at the battle below. Whatever he saw seemed only to satisfy him. That didn't exactly speak well for the autobots. Knock Out risked a peek off the edge and saw Optimus and Megatron exchanging blows while the Prime tried to lift the star saber for a close range attack. There wasn't much time to see anything else before he had to duck beneath another energy blast.

Nearby, the seeker had turned from the sights to the autobot who wasn't battling. She too had been watching the fight below (debating over hopping down and attempting to help). Starscream smirked and Arcee threw herself at him.

Below, the two legends fought viciously. Megatron threw punches, carved deep scratches with his claws, kicked the saber out of his opponent's servo. The Prime always retrieved it, but the warlord continued to keep it away from hitting him. They wrestled for power and an advantage. They edged near the pool of cybermatter and then near the edge of the drop to the Earth below. The advantage continuously shifted. Snarls issued from the warlord and the autobot was visibly wearing out.

Still, while Megatron reared for another attack, he managed to lift his blade.

It would have slid home.

It would have, had he not jerked it to the side the moment its tip began to cut into the warlord's chassis.

* * *

The ship was still moving on its new trajectory. The humans had sent it to the west. Already, they were nearing the oceans.

So long as the fight continued below, Dreadwing did not see a reason to return it.

That belied a lack of confidence in his leader's ability to turn the battle in their favor.

The thought did not worry him as much as he knew it should have. He was far more worried about the danger Megatron was in. A danger Dreadwing could not help with so long as he stood on the bridge directing the vehicon army.

He did not know where Soundwave was. The other officers were below, with Megatron. If Skyquake were here, that's where he would be as well.

Dreadwing growled and shook the thoughts away; he tried instead to focus on what was occurring now.

"Get me a visual of the omega lock," the seeker ordered one of the troopers. The vehicon snapped to it immediately. Soon after, the screen of the main terminal had lit up with video feed. Dreadwing walked to it and set his servos on both sides.

There was a fight. Megatron and Optimus Prime were exchanging blows. Both looked damaged, though not injured.

He should be down there. He should be down there and not here on the bridge.

_will you protect the others-_

The seeker had to growl again. There was no way to win.

He remained where he was watching the combat and hoped that the battle below would end in the decepticons favor. Hoping was all he could do from here.

* * *

The saber stalled, jerking to the side. It began to cut into the mass of armor at Megatron's far left rather than into his chest.

Then another set of servos joined on the hilt next to the Prime's and shoved. The sword's trajectory- already carving in- shifted back to its original target. The blue glow faded from it while Optimus jerked away in surprise; the inactive blade still shoved in in _in_, past armor, past infamy, past a spark that glowed with the stolen colors of Unicron.

Megatron choked while the slice carved through his side into his center. The sound was uncharacteristically garbled. There was no flair to it, no dramatics. There was nothing to summon confidence. Not with the impossible pain. It seemed to take everything just for his head to jerk laboriously from Optimus down to the silver impaling his own chassis.

Bumblebee pulled down on the hilt, driving the warlord to his legs. Claws had risen up to grab the blade sticking out of him. The scout paid them no heed.

_"Megatron,"_ he said as evenly as he could to the mech who'd once held him high in the air and tore him apart- who'd stolen so much from all of them. _"You took my voice. You will never rob anyone of anything again."_

There was no anger or glee or anything so passionate there; just determination and satisfaction that the pain caused by this one mech would stop now.

Others may say he'd stolen this from Optimus. But he knew better than to see it as glory.

This was about making a battlefield decision. This was about doing his best in this damned war.

This was about ending it- so what did it matter what bot struck that final blow?

The servos clamped around the blade loosened from their brief tugging. They froze in their clamped position; rigor mortis. Red optics turned violet optics turned black. They flickered off.

And slowly Megatron slipped off the star saber's blade. Purple energon slid over the surface while the warlord came free: forever stained with Unicron's blood rather than the blue energon of a true cybertronian.

The nightmare fell backwards without grace. There was no life left to flail or reach out or even yell some last curse. Optimus stepped forward as though he meant to reach out and catch his foe. The step was short. No servo grabbed out to the toppling monster.

Bumblebee let the weight of the star saber drop to the ground. His own servos were still clenched on it. It was only now really starting to sink in that _he'd_ _just done that._ He'd just _killed_ Megatron. _The_ Megatron.

Someone was screaming up on the deck above them. The sound was carried away before Bumblebee looked up to find its culprit.

He was as trapped as Optimus was: watching the corpse of a warmonger fall aflame to the surface.

* * *

How many times had he dreamed of this moment?

Starscream watched the corpse slide laboriously from the blade.

How many times had he envisioned the light of Megatron's optics going dark before him?

Now he knew exactly how they looked as life left them.

How many times had he failed to see his leader die?

Every time.

The autobot had stopped grappling with him and stood over his head. He did not notice her. His attention was stolen.

Every time he had thought the warlord gone, Megatron had proved him wrong. The assassination attempt in the debris of the space bridge led only to Megatron's continuous presence in the medbay. Even his time in deep space looking for an army ended with his return.

Starscream had determined that the only way to be rid of Megatron was for he himself to go; obviously, the warlord never would. So he had gone rogue. And still the other found his attempt and dragged him back. For some time, those words spoken in the cortical psychic patch had convinced him that his place was here. It had not lasted forever. After Shockwave had unveiled his failed superweapon, Starscream had already begun hoping for a chance to leave once more.

Oh, but he always came back. Just as Megatron always would.

Despite his envisioning and occasional assassination attempt, at his core he could not see a life without the warlord. A world without him. A world where he was, in fact, killed.

There would _always_ be a Megatron.

And now that constant was torn apart.

Starscream screamed.

He had no lost love for Megatron, no desire to avenge him, no loyalty to feed that desire but-

But he had lost it all in an instant anyway. The decepticons were his to take and Starscream could not even consider it.

If not for Shockwave grabbing him and dragging him away from where he was on his knees watching the incomprehensible end, he would've done something stupidly suicidal.

* * *

The autobots slowly gathered around the deck to look down. Bumblebee was still in the half crouch he'd been in to drive the warlord down. Optimus was moving to his side. A servo landed on the scout's shoulder and brought his attention upwards.

It was all unbelievable. The disbelief kept them silent for a moment. Then Smokescreen whooped. That broke the dam. The team found ways to climb down to the omega lock. Arcee was grinning at Bumblebee and he was returning the expression under his mask. Knock Out was talking non-stop out of relief.

The humans on Earth heard the news and gave out yells of their own. Agent Fowler felt himself lose a year's worth of tension. Earth wasn't going to be in the crossfire of some alien civil war any longer. No more unexpected interrogations with Starscream, no more near misses with superweapons.

Optimus left the celebratory excitement of his team so that he could step to the edge of the omega lock and look down into the ocean far below.

There had been no truce. No reasoning. No ceasefire.

And there would be no more senseless deaths. The Matrix was pleased. But he still could not help but grieve.

It was not his wish to end such bloodshed with more bloodshed.

It was a victory regardless.

The people of Earth, the planet of Cybertron- they did not have to pay for Optimus's indecision anymore. That was, however bittersweet, a victory.

Or it would be, could he consider the danger over. He made a note to speak with Knock Out soon. The mech had said he had died not long after reviving Cybertron. Now that Megatron was gone, he would allow himself to listen to those details. A world hostile to his autobots- or even to the decepticons who were now leaderless- was not a victory in his view.

* * *

On the surface of a distant planet, Ratchet waited for news. His servos were working fast over the seated predacon. Predaking's own face was upturned and looking through the skylight of the vent as though he could see all the way to Earth and watch the battle there.

They were both left out from seeing it. They both were forced to wait for news.

It was practically killing him. The anxiety made him short and, more than once, he accidentally tugged on one of the twisted metal shards stuck in his form too hard (and then was forced to apologize to the wincing predacon).

Without fanfare, the comm came in. Optimus sounded mournful as he spoke.

_«Ratchet. Megatron is no more.»_

The medic jerked up from his work. He froze in that position of surprise until Predaking moved from unheard questions to prodding him.

"What is it?" the predacon asked impatiently. "What is it?"

_«Optimus...»_ Ratchet had too many questions and none at all. _«Does this- do we-»_

_«The omega lock is ours»_ Optimus answered.

The medic leaned back on his heels and laughed with relief. Predaking frowned in confusion.

"We won," he told the neutral. "We've won."

* * *

_We swear to always serve you_

_We swear to throw our lives in front of your own_

_We swear to serve you until our deaths-_

_-our one, true master._

Skyquake had succeeded. No matter the desecration to his dead form, he had fulfilled his honor. He had died in the line of duty; he had died so that their master may live on.

Those who'd stood and listened to their pact were with him now. They were ghosts around his shaking form.

_Traitor. Treason._

_Weak._ Weak to have remained here while his lord was killed below; weak to have watched and done no more than that.

Weak to have thought of the vehicons and how they could flourish without the warlord.

_You should have done something. Not been caught standing here doing nothing at all._

It stung to hear Skyquake's voice among the hostile phantoms. But his twin had sworn their pact; he would have thrown himself in front of his master and- if not- he would have avenged him.

Avenging. That was his task now. That was to be his drive.

And- he knew as he drove his claws into the terminal in despair- he would not.

To go avenge the warlord would mean continuing this war. It would mean fighting when the advantage was so thoroughly on the autobots side. It would have meant many deaths.

That should be a victory itself. To die for righteous vengeance was a blessing. Or it was for him. It was not for the vehicons.

He knew what he would do long before he garnered the strength to do it.

_Forgive me, master, forgive me._

Skyquake would be shaking his head right now.

Dreadwing bowed his own. He bowed it so low that it hit the terminal in front of him and rested there.

The vehicons on the bridge that had watched Megatron killed as he had were hesitant. They asked for him. They asked for orders. He could not hear their specifics as he wallowed in anguish.

But he could not wallow long. Dreadwing forced himself to stand upright. He would be strong for them all this one last time. Then, it hardly mattered what he did. All would be up to the autobots.

"H...Set me up to address the ship." The vehicons looked at each other and then moved to do it. Dreadwing remained where he was; his fists creaked atop the terminal controls. They had magnetized to the surface and kept him rooted to the spot.

"You're ready," a drone pointed at the terminal the seeker stood at. "Anything you say goes to every part of the ship."

It would be heard by all cybertronians on board then. His servos hurt where they clenched.

"Decepticons," he tasted the ashen words.

Could he really- could he really admit to failure? to loss? to allowing his master to die and not doing him the courtesy of continuing his fight?

"This is your sec...this is your first in command speaking."

And it was, was it not?

He had never been meant to be an officer and now he was the highest ranking officer there could be in this army.

So many decepticons had longed for this post. So many had dreamed of the glory they'd lead the cause to in this position. What glory would he lead them to?

The vehicon on Earth repeated those words again and again. They spun round and round and drowned out the disappointment of Skyquake, the orders for vengeance from Megatron, the protocols of honor he'd long lived by.

Had it been only his spark on the line and he would have driven himself to death in battle.

But it wasn't. He was the commander of a small army. Their sparks were his. And he would not see them all extinguished for his own honor's sake.

"Megatron has fallen," Dreadwing said over every speaker on the warship. "As your commander-"

Ashes, ashes; tasteless failures, but not poisonous taste.

The seeker shook despair away and ordered his voice to stay steady for all those who were waiting for his commands.

"-I order you all to stand down."

His tenure as a leader would be the shortest in history, no doubt.

He had just sold it away to the autobots the same breem he had received it, after all.


	89. The Victors and the Runner-Ups

The star saber had finally been set on the ground. The great sword was coated in violet bloods in a grotesque show of what it had so recently done. Optimus could not just ignore the sight. He moved forward and lifted the relic up once more. It slid into its hilt behind him; the energon of his old companion present upon it or not.

While the autobots celebrated, he heard the words spoken by the current decepticon leader. His message carried over the entire ship. It was heard plainly enough from those speakers on the deck around the omega lock. The celebrating autobots all heard it.

"We will approach the bridge to solidify the surrender," Optimus said evenly to both his team and the no-doubt listening decepticons.

There had been no truce. He'd held hope for one for eons.

The ending was unconditional instead.

Optimus accepted it without a word.

* * *

There were a few ramps leading up from the surface of the omega lock to the deck above where it hung. Optimus moved for one first and the other autobots were quick to follow suite.

_"Hey KO, wait a minute."_

First of all, what for? And secondly, what was _that_ nickname? That was a- a- human abbreviation.

Oh well.

Knock Out slowed down and turned to the scout. The autobots continued on with only a few curious glances back.

They stood there together a moment before either talked.

"So." The medic didn't sound nearly as smooth as he liked to. "You did it."

Not that he was too surprised. He'd known more than anyone that Bumblebee was capable of it. The worry situated more around the scout's last minute attempt to avoid this battle and hang out with Predaking instead.

_"Guess so,"_ the other mech laughed.

They were quiet again.

_"You were right,"_ Bumblebee said when he spoke next.

Knock Out resisted the urge to grin. Of course he was.

"So were you," he said instead. "You said you wouldn't waste the chance and you didn't."

The scout laughed again briefly.

_"It doesn't feel real."_

Not yet, but it would. It would. This time, there'd be no government that covered up just how important Bumblebee was and that would make the scout turn into such a pathet- er, a self-conscious beat cop acting like he'd never amounted to much in the world.

_"How'd you know I could do it?"_ Bumblebee asked.

Oh, that was a story for another day. Or possibly not at all. He supposed he'd have to wait and see how long it could him before the urge to talk about how he'd gotten here led him to spilling the story to others. Optimus, Arcee and Breakdown may have broken that dam apart by hearing it.

"I just had a feeling," the medic shrugged.

_"Yeah?"_

"Yeah."

As simple as that.

"I've got another one too."

"What's that?" Bumblebee asked while he quirked a brow.

Something the other probably, may not see coming. But he'd appreciate it, the medic was sure.

"It's just one more thing before we join the others," Knock Out said. He lifted a servo, placed it on the other's chest, and then shoved the scout into the cybermatter of the lock.

* * *

Spluttering, Bumblebee crawled out of the weird liquid stuff.

Today had just been so strange. First, he'd _killed_ Megatron, and now Knock Out was pushing him into the omega lock without any sort of warning at all?

Too weird.

One arm landed on the metal of the lock and was left there alone a moment before the other heaved up next to it. All the liquid had crawled away by the time he'd done so; his arms were as dry as the rest of him. That shouldn't have been possible, though. It was almost like it had crawled into him, but that wasn't how liquid and metal worked.

"Knock Out, what the scrap was that?" he protested up at the red mech while he worked on pulling himself all the way up.

The medic had the audacity to smirk.

"What, is that funny?" Bumblebee asked.

Knock Out's smirk just grew. "You've answered that yourself, haven't you?"

The scout rolled his optics.

"No, Knock Out, apparently I don't see- enlighten me...woul..."

The sarcasm drifted away.

All his words did. His audials had slowly realized what the other mech already seemed to know.

"M...my voice..." one of his arms dropped from its supporting position to touch his own throat.

Knock Out crouched down by him and offered a servo to help him up; the smirk remained ever present.

"It's the cybermatter," he explained. "In its pure form here, it was able to repair any of your damages."

Like the damages to his voice box that Ratchet had never been able to touch.

"How'd you- never mind," Bumblebee shook his head and moved to comm instead. "Hey Raf. We're going to be headed to the homeworld to bring it back online; care to get up here and watch?"

Predictably, there was a stall. Raf's response was slow.

_«B...Bee? Is that you?»_

He grinned wider than he had in years. For the first time in a long time, he slid his mask back so that the world could see that smile. Even as the entire team started to speak up in confusion and excitement, he focused on the human boy's voice.

"It's me," he confirmed.

Ratchet's voice was sputtering. _«But how?»_ he asked.

"Knock Out had the bright idea to dump me in the omega lock," Bumblebee answered with an optic roll at the mech responsible.

There was more sputtering after that, but the scout could tell Ratchet was happy. It was relieving. Ratchet had always taken the loss of his voice even harder than Bumblebee did.

_«Okay, well...I can get up there»_ Raf sounded distracted still. _«I've still got the coordinates I used to bridge Jack and Miko away from Dreadwing and his reinforcements; I can use those to get us all up to the ship.»_

Arcee cut into the comms in a hurry.

_«You had to bridge Miko and Jack off?»_ she snapped. _«When did they even get on?»_

The silence that followed said, plainly, yes we would all like to know too.

_«I put them on to deal with Soundwave»_ the youngest human answered.

Bumblebee started. Knock Out, shockingly, did not.

_«And they're still alive?»_ Breakdown said over the commline next and sounded quite incredulous.

_«Better than just alive-»_ Miko broke in. _«-we beat him! We beat Soundwave!»_

No slagging way. Bumblebee laughed, even if none of the others heard it. That was a relief and a half.

_«How'd you manage that?»_ Arcee pressed. This time it was Jack that answered.

_«It was an idea we had. Since Soundwave fights so much with groundbridges, we decided we could use that against him. He opened one to deal with us, so Raf opened one behind him. And you all remember what happened last time two nearby groundbridges crossed streams?»_

The shadowzone incident. Bumblebee remembered it well; he'd been panicking over Raf's safety the entire time.

"Well, Raf?" he changed subjects. "What do you say?"

He could hear the smile in his friend's voice when he responded.

_«I'll be up in a minute.»_

* * *

They met the wreckers near the brig. Ultra Magnus had been leading his unit up to the top of the ship again when Megatron's death had been broadcasted. They decided to retread their path and meet the others near the brig to regroup. It came with the added benefit of being near the brig in general. Optimus sent Arcee and Smokescreen in to secure stasis cuffs. They had not had a reason to bring any from their base into the fight.

Breakdown joined them to lead the way and help find the cuffs.

"There should be a lot," he told them. "This place wasn't exactly used very often."

All the better, Arcee thought. She pocketed a few cuffs in subspace and rejoined the others.

The walk to the bridge was awkward. The buzz of victory was still there, but the danger of being in the enemy warship never went away. When they'd pass groups of vehicons, the cons would lean against the walls and watch them silently. It put her on the defensive, even if they never did attack.

By the time they reached the bridge, the conversation with the kids had already finished. It had been determined that they would wait to groundbridge up until the danger on the ship had been neutralized. In less fancied up words, it meant Optimus didn't want them to use the coordinates to the ship's bridge before the autobots had gotten all the surviving decepticons off of it.

Arcee waited behind even after that had happened. She alone remained on the bridge.

Or so it would seem to all others.

But she'd already found out it was not the case.

The pent up frustration over Airachnid was ready to boil over. The confusion and a feeling of debt rose to the surface.

Arcee let her vents take in air in preparation for the idiotic move she was about to make.

Then she opened her mouth and spoke out into the seemingly empty room.

"Soundwave?"

* * *

Dreadwing waited for the autobots to arrive.

He wished they would not. He dreaded their arrival. The enemy would swarm him and only then would his defeat become finalized.

It did not matter what he wanted. Their arrival was inevitable.

The vehicons on the bridge were silently nervous. They shifted about and occasionally whispered among themselves. None approached him to ask what was happening or what they should do. Dreadwing was glad of it. He did not know what answers he would give; he had never admitted to defeat before. Surrender had been abstract until now.

All too soon and far too late, the door slid open and admitted the autobots. Dreadwing tried to move up from where he was hunched over the main terminal. His fists still ground into it and his forehead had lowered so much as to touch it in his hunched posture. He tried to move and could not summon the strength to do more than lift his head from it.

"Dreadwing," the Prime spoke.

At the least, he would not gloat. The Prime was far too honorable an opponent to gloat.

"We heard your order to stand down."

He had meant them to. If he merely told the order to his soldiers, the autobots could have slaughtered all in their way as they tried to reach the controls of the warship they still believed was hostile.

"What are your terms, Prime?" he asked dully. He still had not turned to face them.

The lack of hostility in the other's voice insulted his personal honor, but was relieving to hear for the vehicon's sakes.

"We shall be reviving our planet this cycle," the Prime said. "Shedding energon on this same cycle, or any of those on our reborn world, would be needless. We will not kill you. Any of you."

Dreadwing finally turned his head. He saw how stiff and rigid the troopers were as they listened. He would need to show them his own example, then. He would have to summon acceptance for this defeat that he did not feel.

"For now, we will lead you all to the ship's brig," the autobot commander continued. The seeker met his optics. "However, when my team has been given the chance to meet and speak on the matter, I believe jobs can be offered to the troopers. They can pick work of their choosing or they can refuse and simply live free on the planet. Those that wish to continue the war will have to stay incarcerated."

Of course.

And he? He was not a trooper. He was an officer. A heavier burden was in store for him.

He should have died in battle.

But then the vehicons would have resisted the autobots on the ship and fallen too.

The decepticon gave a short nod and motioned for his crew to allow him to speak with the ship again. With the autobot optics searing into his back, Dreadwing addressed them all once more.

"All units."

There was something unnerving about hearing his voice speak and not relating to it at all. He wasted no time wondering on the matter.

"Proceed to the brigs."

Another wave of despair seemed to wash over the entire bridge; perhaps it was only he who truly felt it, however.

The Prime made a motion to one of his autobots and the silver one stepped towards him. Dreadwing stayed passive while it happened. When the autobot gestured with a servo full of stasis cuffs, the seeker turned around and held out his own arms.

Surrender was repulsive. He shoved the thought aside.

"I will speak with you later," the Prime spoke. "We will work together to draft an official surrender and discuss the future for the decepticon army."

But of course. The seeker said nothing. He walked straight-backed when the elite guardsmech gestured him forward to the team. The vehicons slowly followed suit.

Before the door could open, the autobot leader stepped over him and looked down neutrally.

"Dreadwing," the Prime said. "You have made a wise choice. One all previous leaders refused to consider."

And it did not offer any relief to have done so. Dreadwing made no reply. He walked between the enemies stiffly through level after level. He kept his face forward and determined.

It was only after he had stepped into the smallest of the brigs and was shut in alone that he allowed his false composure to slip away. Dreadwing sat on the single bench in the room and buried his face in cuffed servos.

* * *

There were reasons she was doing this.

They may not truly be good reasons, but it didn't stop her. Arcee knew well enough that she was rash. Sometimes, she let it be an excuse and enacted faulty plans without regret.

The rest of the team was busy escorting all the cons to the cells. She had no illusion that she alone could take on the con she'd decided to speak with. But she also knew that he couldn't exactly start fighting her while he was stuck in the shadowzone.

"If you're still in this room, send a message to one of these terminals here. The shadowzone doesn't prevent texts."

Not that Soundwave was the type to leave 'texts', but the mechanics of the human messaging were similar enough to the mechanics of cybertronian pings.

There was a pause wherein Arcee began to feel foolish for talking to herself. Then a wordless ping lit up a nearby monitor.

Great. So she had his attention.

What now?

Arcee didn't think she knew.

All she knew was that the shadowzone was a place the team didn't really know much about. Its mechanics were a bit of a mystery. If they left the con here and went to Cybertron first, there was no saying he'd be here still when they did come back to retrieve him (and they would; Optimus seemed very onboard with the 'incarcerate them all' plan compared to leaving one to starve unregistered in an alternate dimension). Plus, she had too much unfinished business to leave him be.

This was the mech who'd killed Airachnid and left- without any sort of logical reason (since he never sprung a trap with it) besides possibly a taunt- the body for the duo of autobots to find.

This was the mech who'd stolen her revenge and also moved where her own hesitance would not let her.

She wasn't sure whether she was grateful or mad at him for it. It seemed to be some sort of combination.

"I want to talk," she said.

No answer. That wasn't particularly surprising.

"You kept me from getting closure. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

No answer to that either. She wasn't expecting any.

"You killed her. Why'd you do it?"

No, she didn't expect an answer to that either. Her questions were rhetorical and, if not, then they were meant to make him think. She didn't want him to burst out attacking if the team let him out and making him think could help with causing hesitation there.

"Don't get me wrong," she frowned. "I'm glad she's dead."

Arcee walked to the edge of the upper platform and sat down. It was far too casual when she felt as though an invisible con was looming right over her shoulders.

"Why'd you leave the body? Why didn't you attack us when we went to investigate it?"

It didn't make sense.

If it wasn't a taunt, then it was some sort of message. And the only message ideas she could come up with weren't exactly all that hostile.

"Knock Out thought it was a trap. But you never attacked. So why'd you do it?" she repeated. "Why kill her and leave the body for me? Were you trying to tell us she was dead?"

Arcee gave a half-sparked smirk. "It worked, if that's what it was. And when I'm not actively mad at you for stealing the chance for closure from me, I am relieved she's gone."

It wasn't like she'd been making any progress in killing the femme.

"I can let you out, you know."

The silence was briefly constricting. She felt the danger everywhere.

"Megatron's dead."

It was probably her imagination. But the heightened sense of threat that spiked at that affected her anyways.

"The decepticons surrendered. If I let you out, I expect you to do that too. It's the most rational choice. There's no point fighting with him gone."

She smirked again briefly.

"Much as I want to at least try to slag you for stealing my closure and taunting me with that fact, I won't. Not if you don't."

That, of course, got nothing either. The two-wheeler sighed and leaned over her knees.

"Look. She killed my partner and I needed to see her dead. If I'm right and you weren't actively trying to taunt with it, then I owe you one for showing me she was dead. That was a decent thing to do. More than I expect from Megatron's lead lackey. So if you bothered doing that for an enemy you've never even talked to, I can't help but think you deserve to see Cybertron reborn again."

There was a sigh before she stood up again.

"I sure am betting alot on hoping you're not as crazy as Starscream or the others," Arcee mumbled before tapping her audial and directly comming the Earth base.

_«Hey Raf? I want a bridge at my location on my mark. Do not come through yet.»_

To the others, she sent a different comm.

_«Optimus. I want to let Soundwave out. We may not get the chance to do it if we fly away from this spot. He could also use the opportunity to escape when the humans groundbridge up here and that could mean endangering them. We-»_

_«Granted»_ he said. _«But Arcee, be careful. We are on our way. Waiting for our arrival may be wise.»_

It would be. But it would also deny her the opportunity to face off with Airachnid's killer alone.

Arcee braced herself for a fight in case she was wrong about her suspicions. Knock Out was spewing very worried comments over the comm to her that she tried to tune out.

If Soundwave denied her the chance to defeat Airachnid alone, he would at least give his answers to her and her alone.

_«Raf. Now.»_

* * *

The monitors had shown Lord Megatron's defeat. Dreadwing had stood there and watched it happen. In a dimension where he could not do a thing to stop what he was seeing, Soundwave watched it as well.

There was despair unnameable at seeing it.

Soundwave prepared to fly from the ship to find his master's corpse. Though he could not touch it, he would wait beside it. He would wait besides it wherever it had fallen and wait until he joined the corpse in death.

But the strength to leave had not yet come. He was detached from the submerged noises on the alternative _Nemesis_ around him. He had not yet moved from where Lord Megatron's death had rooted him.

Then the autobot came.

She talked pointlessly. He listened. He always listened.

The autobot was angry that he had killed the traitor Airachnid instead of her. It was an anger built from foolish revenge. Had giving her the useless body not been enough? He remembered foolish revenge enough to not grow too irritated at her irrational complaints.

She acted as though they were having a conversation. They were not. Had he been free, she would not be speaking at all. He would tear past them all until he stood on the flightdeck and could dive down towards his master's body.

The simplicity of her words- of how quickly she proclaimed his death- cut into Soundwave.

Then the autobot made a tactical ploy by comparing him to Starscream (attempting to secure a passive reaction on his part when he left) and ordering a groundbridge. Soundwave wasted no time opening his own right next to the autobot's and stepping through.

The dead air and submerged noises of the 'shadowzone' were replaced with a feasible ground. Arcee had stepped back from him after the groundbrigdes had closed and kept her weapons ready.

Did she wish to fight? To try to kill him since she could not kill the insecticon traitor?

Foolish.

Soundwave lunged towards the other. Arcee shifted away with wide optics. One servo transformed into a blaster and shot his shieldings. A blade shot out of her other arm and swiped at him. This time it was he who shifted away. His datacables uncoiled. The autobot sped around to avoid attacks.

It was a good effort. It went nowhere. Soundwave shoved the other down and held her there. His servos bent the metal of her shoulders. His cables kept her writhing arms down. Fighting was familiar, in the least. Fighting was something and right now there was nothing in life. No Lord Megatron, no war, no victory.

The autobot beneath him spat.

"You-you idiot-" she snarled.

Far from it.

"You can't beat my whole team. They'll come in and kill you when they see you attacking me."

All the better.

Arcee stopped struggling to glare at him unmovingly.

"Is that really what you want?" she hissed. "What's the point in dying now?"

Nothing.

There was no point in **anything** anymore.

Soundwave leaned back on his heels. His cables released the autobot's arms and his servos retreated from her shoulder plates.

No Lord Megatron. Dead. No Lord Megatron to watch Soundwave avenge him. No point.

The autobots would be here again soon. They would want him to stand down. The Prime may even want him to shift loyalty; it seemed likely that Optimus would extend some sort of pardon if Soundwave would offer help.

Perhaps that was the most logical choice to make.

Soundwave could not live with it now. He could not imagine functioning on to help a reborn world grow. He could not do it without Lord Megatron.

Arcee was pushing upwards. She'd made it to a crouch; one servo was feeling at her jaw carefully. The look she shot him was clearly hostile.

_If you bothered doing that for an enemy you've never even talked to, I can't help but think you deserve to see Cybertron reborn again._

Perhaps he did deserve that chance.

But then he would either suffer through an autobot occupation directing his every move or imprisonment.

Soundwave would enact his fate on his own terms. He would not live in a world where he had to mourn his failure to protect Lord Megatron; his failure to act or kill or even speak out while he saw the death.

In some ways, Soundwave was grateful to the autobot. At least here, he would not have to worry about Laserbeak being trapped in some alternate dimension.

But until something called for his necessity...

The autobot was still looking at him cautiously.

He stared back.

He did not look to the door when a few other autobots poured through with weapons hot and yelled demands.

For the first time in eons, Soundwave did not listen.

He watched until his vision cut off. All his senses did. His mind collapsed inwards to a voluntary stasis that would not have to linger on consciously in a world where his life's purpose had been killed while he watched on.


	90. Rebirth

They awoke in the span of a single cycle.

One reborn, the other reawakened.

One full of strength, the other sapped away.

One disoriented from the sudden revival...

...the other planning on how best to reap the rewards of that disorientation.

* * *

It had been busy for Raf. Without Ratchet around, he really was the lead man at this station. All the comms, the evacuations, the balance of information- it was pretty stressful, he wasn't going to lie. Granted, most of that stress only kicked in when the comm was sent out that Megatron was gone. There just hadn't been anytime for it to show up before then.

Hearing Bumblebee had made any of that stress worth it.

It'd made all the stress his short inclusion in the war had brought worth it.

Raf knew the other two were dealing with their own issues. Jack was having trouble balancing all the worries surrounding his mom from a few weeks ago and the new 'siblings' that were invading his personal space these days. Miko was Miko; she was rather concerning, once you scratched past the obvious.

He didn't have any of his own issues at his house. There were no aliens trying to camp in his garage and no disconnect with his family- no matter how big it was and how easily he disappeared among the mass.

All that said?

Bee was family. They'd never needed to talk for that bond to solidify. But getting to talk with each other like this was...it meant so much to him.

He'd always love the family on Earth. He didn't have any wild schemes (like Miko) to find a way to live on Cybertron right now.

But he was going to miss his friend so much.

The early sniffles were interrupted when Ratchet sent him a short request. While the others were busy chatting over when they could use the bridge to join the others, Raf slipped from the computers and went down the steps off the catwalk.

It felt pretty apparent that these halls were meant for larger inhabitants when he was walking down them alone. The noise of his friends carried over the air while he made his way towards the large, shut door.

Raf gulped once when he stood in front of it.

Hopefully, the decepticon wouldn't decide to kick down the door and ruin the base the moment he revealed the bots were gone. That was if the con hadn't already realized that. Noises carried pretty well down here, now that he thought about it. So the con probably had already heard everything happening. He probably already knew that all the heavy hitters were gone from the main room.

The boy pulled himself together.

"Ratchet wants to tell you that the war is over," he spoke up at the giant door.

This was a little daunting, to say the least. Especially considering that the only people big enough to stop the con behind this door from getting him were Miko and maybe Mrs. Darby's insecticons. Neither of whom were exactly around right now.

No one responded.

"Um. I guess they'll explain more soon. He just said to tell you it's over. They killed Megatron and one of the con officers surrendered."

"Which one?" a voice crackled from the other side.

Raf grimaced. "I don't know yet. Sorry."

The only reply was metal shifting on concrete. The door didn't kick outward, in the least.

Miko started yelling at him from the other room (something along the lines of 'get in here old man') and Raf shook his head.

"I'll be going now. Stay put," he said while he bounced backwards and moved to depart down the hall.

Back in the main room, the weight of the hall dissipated. Raf returned to the contagious brightness of the others. They couldn't wait to get on board and watch the autobots get their planet back. It was so obviously important to all the bots, after all.

The door in the hallway was put to the back of his mind.

It wasn't until the team returned that one of the other cybertronians finally retrieved the vehicon medic. The base was no longer in constant alert.

It was just far, far more empty than anyone was used to it being.

* * *

Years before and he'd been a grumpy ex-army ranger assigned to a fancy, cozy, babysit-the-extraterrestrials job. He'd been pretty bitter over the reassignment and early retirement in general. Perhaps it was the enforced retirement and the divorce happening concurrently that really deserved most of that ire. It hadn't mattered to him at the time. Deserved or not, the frustration went towards the job and the aliens themselves.

It was honestly impressive how rapidly things changed in the last year.

This was far from where he'd ever expected himself to be a year ago. Standing on a purple countertop of a big old battleship belonging to a bunch of surrendered enemies while his allies shot their own planet with healing goop? Next to a bunch of kids who should've been in school instead of in space? Borderline cheering when they did get their planet all fixed up?

Liaison. It really wasn't so bad of a job. Plenty of action, a good social connection service, and a comfy VTOL thanks to a certain Ratchet.

Fowler smiled while the kids jumped around and hugged and celebrated right alongside their giant compatriots.

The big guy was smiling peacefully at the sight on the big screen. Shoulderpads wasn't the smiley type, but he was also not shaking off the friendly punch Wheeljack had landed on his arm. Two-ton was grinning with his whole face while Miko scampered up his hand. The yellow bot was hugging the smallest of the autobots while both laughed. The flashy defector was doing _something_ with his buddy that made Fowler reconsider what he knew about their entire relationship.

All in all, they were all happy.

And he knew more than any of the other big guys in Washington that they all deserved to be.

* * *

The autobots activated the space bridge.

It worked out perfectly for them. Starscream had no desire to get stranded on Earth. Especially not with _this_ con.

This escape pod wasn't exactly comfortable enough for two, but the foolish drones had stolen all of the rest before they had even reached the corridor. By the time they were fighting to enter it, Dreadwing had already sent his message to stand down over the loudspeakers. For once, Starscream could agree with Shockwave on something: mainly, no fragging way. So they'd eventually found a way to cram into the pod; that, of course, was when the ship decided to move. It was unexpected enough that neither actually undocked the pod until the ship had already left Earth's lower atmosphere.

Shockwave was shoving against him despite protests. The scientist even had the gall to push him down into an especially painful contortion in order to grab at the controls and steer them for the bridge. Really, Starscream was quite capable of doing that himself.

This was humiliating. Leave it to Megatron to die and leave him with Shockwave. And leave it to Shockwave to decide that dragging along someone he hated was a good idea just because retreat was 'logical'. Frag him and his logic.

The escape pod shot through the vortex and began its collision course with Cybertron while the warship was cozily descending. Frag the autobots too.

There was no one alive that Starscream didn't want slagged right now. Even if Megatron's death was impossibly empty, he could still convince himself that their deaths would make him feel better about the defeat all around right now. It may have been hollow, but dreaming the unlikely (_unlikely_ rather than _impossible_ as of now, seeing as Megatron's death had moved from offhand dream to reality today) always had been a habit of his.

It was better than focusing only on the feeling of utter failure evidenced by how he was trapped in an escape pod on a crash course with a dead planet.

* * *

A single ship sat in place above the Well.

It was not one that answered the calls sent out by an autobot rookie. It was the very ship that had long hounded Earth with its secret presence.

The omega lock built beneath it was ready. A small team of autobots and their human allies were ready as well.

The cybermatter fired into the Well. Its light shone on the dull sides as it traveled deep into Cybertron.

Then life bloomed out from it.

The living presence of Primus emanated through the Matrix of the last living Prime. It sent out through the universe, though many could not feel it.

It rebirthed ancient attentions and fallen beings.

The light from the Well shone bright. The life spread fast over the planetside. It did not repair buildings or architecture, but it revived atmosphere and gasses and energon flows.

Cybertron was meant to be composed of living substance.

It was rather like Earth, in that matter.

* * *

It had been a moment of absolute magnitude.

It had been a hopeful wish come true. Ratchet had gotten the predacon stable enough that the injuries weren't life threatening when he received Optimus's call. He'd gotten so excited by the end of the war- and so relieved that Optimus had finally done what was necessary to end it -that he'd shown a bit of that excitement. The patient ended up moving again (something he should not have done, but something that would need to be done regardless. A full medical examination was best done in a medbay and it seemed the autobots now had one Ratchet could use. If Predaking had to move anyways, at the least both of them could see the planet revive) to boost the medic out through the vent and then clutch onto the walls so that his head could look out over the Sea of Rust.

They watched the energy from the Well spread towards them. They felt the ground beneath them come to life again. The thickening atmosphere caught the light of those stars nearby and spread the nearest one's golden glare over the horizon.

Predaking's expression was one of wonder. Ratchet wondered if he matched it.

It hadn't taken long for them to need transportation. Watching the planet's rebirth from the surface was a treat, but he had a patient. When that patient started slipping from his grip and sliding back into the vent, Ratchet decided it was time to call for a bridge.

The predacon had looked at it suspiciously. It took wrangling to convince _his highness_ to go through. Most of that wrangling was done by Bumblebee. Ratchet didn't have time for bullshit.

The ship had returned to Earth while he was still busy putting the ornery predacon into medical stasis. As was rather expected, the whole team unloaded into Autobot Outpost Omega One. They had their goodbyes to give, after all.

It had been a good ride. It was hard to say goodbye for all of them.

Optimus caught him watching. The Prime came to his side and spoke softly to him.

"Do you plan on staying?"

The medic's mouth quirked. Observant, that one. It was no surprise he'd made it so big in this world.

"I do," he said. "This is where I am needed."

"Your medical duties need you," Optimus pointed out.

Of course. And the very medic he had dragged to this base. Ratchet hadn't thought of the vehicon since he'd asked Raf to speak with him. There was a duty to see to its end there as well.

"Knock Out is capable enough," he countered. "And he has a medical assistant to aid him. The team won't need me forever."

A servo clenched on his shoulder.

"We need you for far more than your medical expertise."

It almost made Ratchet smile. It almost made him scoff.

The groundbridge opened again. One by one, the team gradually mosied over to it. For having their homeworld finally back, they didn't seem rushed to go to it.

If they were going to go, it was time to go. Both of them knew it. But Optimus also knew that he had to go; pretending otherwise was just that: pretense. Staying back wasn't an option for the Prime.

The servo and the commander stayed where they were regardless of that fact.

"I...it's not the time," the medic started.

"Old friend." Optimus frowned. "You know that you deserve to see our planet thrive again."

Ratchet frowned.

"I don't 'deserve' anything. But-"

He looked to where Breakdown was escorting the vehicon out of the hall towards the groundbridge open to the Nemesis.

That was his responsibility. He couldn't just run from it all and leave it to the other two medics.

The humans were his responsibility as well. Staying here to provide both teams the hope that they could reach each other was his responsibility.

Optimus was looking at him as patiently as ever. Ratchet felt himself deflate.

"Nothing permanent," he muttered. "I want to come back here."

Out of everyone, the medic had a hunch Optimus related to his request best.

They'd both wanted nothing more than to end the war and save their planet.

Now that they had, they could not bear to watch the changing world bear the brunt of that old war and how their recognizable faces brought it back unwillingly.

* * *

One last time on Earth for the time being.

One look at these faces for the week or the month or however long it took for loneliness to drive them right back.

It was what Bumblebee said to Raf that really proved to be a summation of all their emotions on this departure.

_"If you ever need me- need us- for any reason at all..._

_we're just a spacebridge away."_


	91. Contingencies and Transitions

_AN- First scene is a flash-forward._

* * *

It was no Velocitron.

Still, it was already so busy. So lively.

It wasn't really home, but it made for a damn good vacation location. Races were ongoing. Jets mingled with the occasional seeker visiting from Vos. A Cube game going on right then was loud even at this distance. The city sprawling out around the Well had grown so very large. Even during the night cycle of the planet, it was lit up completely; rather than by golden sunlight, it was neon at night.

It was really something to see.

Certainly different than the Golden Age style cities that had sprung up in the wake of the war's end last time.

This balcony made for a pretty good place to be visiting at. It let the sights sprawl out. It let the lights shine in combined, chaotic glory.

No god of the undead had taken it over. No decepticon rebellions had done great damage and no autobot councils had started tracking down those loyal to the Prime for petty reasons.

Whatever they'd been doing differently, it was working so far.

Knock Out eased back, enjoyed the sights, and reminisced on what led them here.

* * *

It was his first order of business. Ultra Magnus was leading the effort to work out the finer details of their plan. Smokescreen had claimed communications duty, of all things, out of sheer insistence that he be the first to hear words from returning autobots. Apparently, he was a still little stuck on how his transmitted requests for a ship had not gone responded to.

The star saber was in one of the vaults of the _Nemesis_ for now. Optimus hoped to bring it out soon in an official ceremony for Bumblebee; it was high time the mech was promoted past scout-class. Until then, he hoped not to have to use it at all.

There were many plans that needed to be made by the leaders of both factions. Optimus, Ratchet, and Ultra Magnus would all spearfront that. Dreadwing was the only decepticon officer remaining that could agree on terms or request different options for those soldiers under his command. Soundwave was alive, but he would not be residing in any interrogation or meeting. The mech was being kept in the medbay and had been unresponsive to all Ratchet's assigned attempts to pull him from his voluntary stasis.

Victory was wonderful, but that did not make it uncomplicated.

Before he truly began to deal with any of that, Optimus called for Knock Out.

With Megatron dead, he no longer had to fear what the dimension hopper's information would do to affect his nerve against his old enemy. Instead, he had a duty to prepare his people for whatever vague dangers he had garnered from the medic's stories.

First, he asked on the government.

In truth, he was at a loss over what they should do for the government of the newly reborn world.

It was simple now, when all that were here were on this very ship. But when more cybertronians began to return, expectations and needs would transform. Ultra Magnus had more ideas than he did on the matter; Optimus Prime had been born for battle and military leadership and not much else.

"You said your reborn Cybtertron was hostile," Optimus began. "Why?"

Since it was Knock Out he was asking, the answer took a while to truly come out. He did not speak in riddles, but he was not entirely clear in how he did speak. They needed to direct the conversation many times before Optimus began to understand what had occurred in that other dimension.

It sounded idealistic, from Knock Out's words. It sounded exactly like what Optimus had wanted to do here. A government that wasn't entirely affiliated, that came from citizens rather than his team, that was clean from the war.

It seemed his hopes would need adjustments. That world was not what cybertronians needed.

_Any_ cybertronian.

"They sent any decepticon to prison ships that flew offworld. According to Brainstorm, it wasn't just cons. Anyone that looked enough like one or who caused trouble got the brand tacked on and thrown into stasis too. Granted, he was just theorizing, so I can't say how true that is," Knock Out shrugged.

It was troubling regardless.

"It's just- it's so weird, even now, because they never seemed pro-autobot either. I don't know who they liked better; the cons they were throwing in stasis or the bots they were exiling."

It did seem strange.

But Optimus wasn't here to find answers to those inconsistencies.

"Why do you believe they began these actions?" he asked. The medic shrugged again.

"I think it's cause you were gone. But you already know that."

It was true.

He did not want to feel so entrapped by another world's future, however.

"Then let's discuss that. You say I joined the Allspark with the Matrix?"

Not definitively a one-way trip, but still a risky move. One most easily rectified by joining the spark the Matrix was connected with to the Well itself.

Returning the Allspark to Cybertron was more important than any one bot. Or even whatever government that single bot could prevent from rising.

"You brought back the Allspark in time to see us all fighting Unicron's undead army. You emptied its container so that Unicron would get trapped inside it, but at the cost of your own spark."

As Optimus thought.

"Are you going to try that again?" Knock Out was frowning.

What choice would he have?

The Prime was now the one frowning.

"In light of what you've said becomes of the people of Cybertron after my departure, I...I do not know, Knock Out," Optimus admitted. "I will try to do differently."

After he'd dismissed the medic, he went into thought once more.

They were far from pleasant thoughts, but such was victory. It left the victor with all the time to think about the complexities before them.

He did not want to lead a post-war world.

He did not want to lead in peacetime.

And he did not want either faction hunted, imprisoned, or exiled unless they were an explicit threat to the peace.

Optimus slumped in a sigh.

There was still time to mull over the details of his fledgling plan. It was time he would be utilizing.

The forge of Solus Prime was in his possession and he had promised himself that he would put it to good use.

* * *

They crashed down only a few moments before the planet revived.

If this wasn't coming so soon after Megatron's death, Starscream probably would have reacted more to the revival. As it was, he was entirely too distracted by that death to even note that Cybertron was finally alive once more. Shockwave spent more time looking out over the newly bright landscape than he did. Starscream was talking that entire time, although he didn't really remember what he'd been saying. His mind was busy reeling while he spoke by default.

"We will need to go into cover," Shockwave finally said and interrupted whatever stream of words the seeker was ranting out.

"Cover?" Starscream sneered. "And what, exactly, do you have in mind?"

The scientist moved his attention away from the valley they were overlooking to the seeker.

"I have many laboratories on this planet. They will shield us from autobot attention."

There was nothing problematic about that idea. Nothing except that it came from Shockwave, which meant it deserved another sneer.

They moved for one of those laboratories after that. Starscream spent the flight flying low around the tank and harassing the scientist for the horrid slow speed of his alt. Shockwave gave arguments against all of the seeker's comments. Their petty debate lasted until they came to a stop outside a boring looking hill.

"This?" he pointed at the heap of metal. The scientist ignored him and walked forward.

The smaller mech hovered behind.

"I will prepare defenses," Shockwave said. He shoved dust from an otherwise inconspicuous wall and keyed the controls hiding there. Metal walls shoved aside as a door in the hillside slid open to darkness.

Starscream sneered at him and followed him cautiously into the dark opening.

"And what sort of defenses would those be?" he asked while they moved deeper underground.

The lights keyed on answered that question for him.

The lab was spacious enough, for being one room only. The tanks set up left little room for wondering what this lab was meant for.

"Again?" Starscream rushed over to the other to jab a claw at him. "These aren't defenses, they're liabilities!"

Shockwave's face was as unmoving as ever.

"My equipment is ready for the cloning process. Other defenses would require equipment that I do not have ready. Besides-"

His monotone seemingly darkened.

"My predacon clones have always been loyal to me. With or without their apparent ability to transform or speak, they have always followed any order I give them."

That was that, apparently.

At least Megatron had been smart enough to shut that wild project down.

Starscream wished he were here to shut it down again.

* * *

He hadn't been aware of what happened around him.

He didn't feel when the medic continued work on his injuries. He didn't see when a mech peeked into the room with a hesitant vehicon and disappeared again.

His stasis was peaceful. After all that had happened recently, having peace was nearly blissful.

Once the stasis began to slip away, the peace went as well. Predaking became aware that he was onboard the warship. The warship that was no doubt flooded with autobots. They would likely want him to assimilate. Perhaps it was the recent stasis talking, but he did not especially want to assimilate right then. He certainly did not want to have to consider whatever treaties or bargains they would be pitching while only half awake.

Before it had fully slipped away, he was already thinking of ways to get off the ship. Crashing through the walls would likely not be appreciated by the autobots. Reaching the deck without running into the others was a better option, although it still ran the risk of not making it before a confrontation.

It occurred to him that he had never met the autobot leaders. The only ones he had spoken to were the scout and the medic. The idea of meeting more seemed a little daunting. Everything did, so long as he was slowly returning to full mental awareness.

Should he make it to the deck without running into anyone, then he could fly away. The entire planet was his to explore; the old haunts of the predacon race were his to control.

Little good being a king when his people were dead.

As much as he wanted to fly over the planet, he did not want to be alone. He did not want to feel the pointlessness of wandering and creating a kingdom for him alone.

Predaking's optics finally onlined. He pushed up from the berth with a groan.

Despite the effects of stasis, he _did_ feel better. His frame wasn't aching anymore. The wings on his back no longer had gaping holes that would prevent flight.

A few monitors were beeping. Some odd tubes were connected to him. They were uncomfortable. He pulled them off.

"Ratchet woke you up," someone said.

The predacon blinked and looked around the purple room. It seemed he wasn't alone after all.

"He had to rush off, though, but he said you're good to go."

Who was saying that? A new autobot he hadn't met? The voice wasn't recognizable.

The mass of yellow and black stood out from the purple of the room. Predaking tilted his head and looked at the mech.

"Your voice," he said.

"Yeah." The scout grinned. The expression was visible now; the mask that had previously covered the lower half of his face was gone. "I got my voice back. I guess getting dumped in the omega lock does that."

When they had first spoken, Predaking had not realized the autobot's voice was different than the others. It had been understandable and that was all he had noticed. What did it matter if the communication came over different senses? The predacons had communicated in different manners than the decepticons had. Predaking understood them all; or he had in the memories, at the least. Now, however, after hearing a different method from a mech he'd recognized...

"The omega lock? It did this?" the predacon asked.

The yellow bot smiled again.

"It was just as surprising to me too. The cybermatter can revive the planet, so I guess my voicebox wasn't too hard a repair to make."

And the planet _had_ been repaired. He'd watched it happen from the surface. He'd felt the light of the nearest star- captured by a reborn atmosphere- as heat on his plating.

It was a device capable of so much.

"So this omega lock is capable of great repairs," Predaking mused. "Is it still functioning? If my brothers were to be..."

The words and hopes were left hanging in the air. He considered the cubes of matter his brethren had been reduced to; he pictured throwing them into the omega lock in the same way this autobot apparently had been. That would effectively seal his loyalties with them, he felt.

"I don't think it works that way," the scout frowned. It looked more sad than angry. Predaking wondered if the autobot _could_ be sad over predacons he had never met. He considered how this one had come to him while he lay injured for reasons Predaking wasn't certain he understood and felt that they might. "I don't think it could bring back the dead."

The brief hope faded back to mourning. The predacon lay back against the berth behind him.

"I see."

The scout leaned over his knees. He'd been sitting on a table nearby. Waiting for him to awaken? Perhaps. Predaking thought the sentiment may have been appreciated.

"What about the repairs you got the good old fashioned way?" he was asking. "You feeling better?"

The aches and burning pains were gone.

"As better as I can," Predaking growled. "As best I can be when my brothers are helpless to be saved."

They were silent after that. The scout picked at dirt crusted on his knee plating. The predacon listened to the sounds of the medical monitors.

"I'm Bumblebee, by the way," the autobot said after a while. "I don't think I ever introduced myself."

A name to put to this face. Predaking smiled. Names were important to him. Remembering his own had been the apex of his personal discoveries. The nightmares that had followed notwithstanding, he was still thrilled with the methods he had used to reveal his personhood.

"Bumblebee," he tried the name out quietly. The quiet noises of the medbay remained ever present.

The pitch for alliance or requests of recruitment did not come. He expected them and yet they still had not begun. He half felt tempted to start them himself at this rate.

"Thank you," he said simply. It was gratitude for the lack of treatises and manipulations and orders thus far.

Bumblebee smiled at him.

"Anytime, Predaking."

* * *

Their plan was simple enough. Keeping it all simple was rather necessary, after all.

Optimus would remain a leader for the time being. Even if the war was over, his team was used to answering to him. Ultra Magnus was working on drafting laws. Some were merely resurrected from the pre-war days. Some were temporary and meant only for this interim period before more cybertronians returned.

So far, none had answered the calls sent out. Optimus had no illusions that they would not, however. Even if only a fraction remained online, they would be enough to demand new laws and structure.

The Allspark was a necessity. It needed to be returned to the Well. Newsparks had an entire world to repopulate. The future of their species depended on it.

Bulkhead volunteered to lead construction efforts. He pitched the idea and a good group of vehicons had volunteered to help. Optimus was pleased with the turnout. He had never wanted to incarcerate the decepticon survivors. As much as he wanted many to face justice, that plan would only lead to more fighting. An autobot run planet that required decepticon survivors to go through court would no doubt make most either never come to the planet or else battle the system altogether.

The prison ships of Knock Out's story did not seem like the answer. Were they justice? Optimus would rather have peace in unity than justice, it seemed.

Not all of the faceless troops of the _Nemesis_ volunteered. Some were in the brigs; those were the rare soldiers that would not stand down. Most were in their old quarters, no matter how nervous that freedom made the outnumbered autobots feel when they went alone down those halls of unlocked doors. Some accepted Bulkhead's request for construction workers. Some requested to remain in their quarters until better suited jobs were offered. The majority were willing to help in the effort to rebuild this world.

Their leader was also willing, but Optimus and Ultra Magnus had not yet agreed on what to do with the current commander of the decepticon remnants. He remained in his brig for the time being. Ultra Magnus wanted to charge him as a war criminal. Optimus was not sure what he wanted. Had the armies made a truce and Optimus would have seen the seeker spearfronting some effort to rebuild. A truce put both armies on equal footing. A surrender did not.

Arcee had returned to her job from long before. She wanted to map out the planet and take note of any new locations that Primus's revival had made. It came with the added benefit of looking for Shockwave and Starscream, wherever the two may be (if they were, in fact, even on this planet). Bumblebee hadn't joined her in the job. He was busy working out the predacon-cybertronian relations. Optimus was proud of all the progress his young scout had made in securing the surviving predacon's alliance.

Predaking himself had met with him a few times. Ultra Magnus had joined most of these meetings and the three leaders had discussed options and goals. As distant as the predacon seemed, he still enunciated his side of these alliances clearly. After most of these meetings, the predacon departed and found the autobot he seemed to trust the most. They would speak for jours before Predaking departed the warship. At current, he was looking for a place to call his own. Judging by the time he spent on the _Nemesis_ with Bumblebee, Optimus suspected that place may, in time, end up being among the autobots.

Ratchet was irritable on the regular. He also spent many breems on the deck looking happily out at the peaceful world. Optimus believed that his irritation came from sharing a medbay with three other mechs- one of which tried to melt through the walls in fear whenever Ratchet came near (a fact that Optimus could tell was bringing his friend misery).

It would not be long before he would ask to return to Earth. The Prime knew it, the medic knew it, and neither brought it up.

Within his chassis, the added bulk around the Matrix was uncomfortable. Optimus never mentioned it to anyone. He was resigned to feeling its discomfort until the day came where he would lose it.

It would be his last day as himself.

Optimus enjoyed the starlight and happiness of his team and the peace of a saved planet while he still could.


	92. Phoenix

Names.

XL-3T09 still didn't have one, but quite a few of the others did. Almost all of those had gone for Earth names. He wasn't sure why entirely, but they preferred the blank slates and disconnected mythologies over the cybertronian cultures they had never been alive for.

He wished XL-3T09 would hurry up and find one. This had been his idea at the start, really.

Independence through names.

Now the war was over and independence was supposedly going to be offered to any of them and still he had no name.

Maybe it did matter more than a collection of numbers and letters.

The glyph on his shoulder seemed to burn while he thought on it. He scratched it uncomfortably; the sensation was far from welcome. Now, especially.

They let him stay in his old room. The autobot medic tried to visit far too much. He'd taken to barricading the hall and medbay doors shut from the inside just for peace of mind (it wasn't like he was truly allowed to lock himself in; the autobots wanted controls over doors).

It was too quiet in there. It was too spacious. The rest of the vehicons were in their far more crowded quarters. Dreadwing was in a cell. This was too much.

But quiet let him think. It let him wonder over the wellbeing of all those he cared about. It let him wonder on himself.

He thought of the offer the defector had pitched for him. Those thoughts spun round and round. He slid from the berth and sat at the desk nearby. The single screen flickered to life. The autobots would monitor anything he did here- or he suspected so, at the least.

Why human words?

Was it the meanings they held?

Was it the familiarity of the planet they seemed to have spent more time at than the technical homeworld?

Was it only to differentiate from the other cybertronians; to let their presence solidify as unique to the forged?

Jours passed in silence while he searched through the same base of information his fellow vehicons had seemed to choose as their source.

The word he spent the most time on wasn't perfect. It could always be replaced by another, he supposed. He could always wait. XL-3T09 was waiting.

The glyph burned, the door knocked, the medbay carried voices of the victors.

Maybe a change, however imperfect, would be remedy enough for functioning to continue.

He let the screen with its image fade away and stood to open the door for whoever his visitor was.

* * *

This was odd.

There were fields all around. They swam in the air about it. One was rather boring. The other was obnoxious already. It decided it didn't like either much.

Ah! Sight had arrived. It had seen things through a yellow fog before. Vision was so much more clear now. It spent a good minute looking at everything around itself before it came to a preliminary conclusion on its surrounding sights.

Meh. They were alright. Not very exciting. Too much purple and not enough lights. How boring.

One of the 'sights' hit it in the face with a stick. That was the gray one. At least the gray one's face was expressive. The purple one didn't have a face.

Alright, so now it was time to try _hearing_.

"-you can, so just transform, you stupid beast."

That sounded insulting. It huffed at the mech reflexively.

"He's broken, Shockwave," the insulting one spoke again. "Try the other one."

The blank one didn't react.

"The original took multiple cycles before transformation became possible for him."

Original? There was nothing like it! Except...

It glanced aside to stare behind itself at two bright yellow tubes. A small form was floating in one. A large form was in the other.

A brother? It reached out for the sleepy fields. Oh! A brother and a sister! Delightful. Far better than _boring_ and _annoying_ over here. It pawed over to the tubes and looked in. This brother looked pretty big. But it was big too. Probably bigger. Definitely stronger.

The screechy one was insulting, but it agreed with him: it wanted the other ones woken up too.

It wanted to prove itself as stronger, after all.

* * *

When he had been on Earth, XL-2M99 had spent too much time thinking. He'd imagined all the horrific fates that could have befallen all those he considered friends. He'd wondered if rescue would be allowed should the decepticons win.

There was nothing physical stopping him from leaving the little room and taking the main controls of the autobot base for himself.

The stresses stopped him regardless. Time crawled and suspended and, suspended as it was, passed quick enough to miss all that happened in the in between- soon enough, one of the organics was trying to talk with him from beyond the door.

The war was over.

It was over.

Vehicons were created solely for that war. Those like himself- the miner classes and other noncombatants- were added to the rosters of Shockwave's production projects soon after he'd begun, but even they would not have been formed without the war.

The war had killed so many that the remaining decepticon forged thought creating an army of clones would make up for their colossal losses.

It seemed they had not.

The medic had come outside again. XL-2M99 had felt so certain he would open the door and invade this pitiful excuse for a sanctuary. He hadn't. He'd just stood out there and talked about how the war was done, how the Prime was offering conditional pardons to the vehicons (the condition being they accept the ceasing of hostilities docily), how he could be returned to the medbay of the Nemesis.

_There'd be others in the medbay, of course. Maybe even him._

_He could teach the vehicon actual medicine. If he wanted to get more experience being a medic and not a stand-in._

Right. Like he could just stand in his workspace while the autobot medic taught him how best to be a doctor. Like that would _ever_ undo what had been done.

XL-2M99 was too scared to scoff aloud. Eventually, the medic had left and returned to the noisy celebrations in the autobot base. He'd debated on trying to slip out unnoticed. The desperation to confirm who had lived and who had not kept him rooted in place until one of the autobots had retrieved him.

When the door had opened, his first thought was gratitude that it wasn't the autobot medic.

His second was a misplaced relief. They hadn't spoken much before, but the other vehicons talked about him often enough. Breakdown.

The big mech had acted friendly enough. Almost too friendly, considering they weren't close before the defection. Perhaps it was a reaction of relief. Why Breakdown felt relief upon speaking with a virtually unknown vehicon, XL-2M99 did not know and didn't bother beginning to guess.

Upon delivering him to the main vehicon quarters, he'd halfway pitched his offer the first time. XL-2M99 hadn't known what to say to it, so he'd just entered the room while pretending he hadn't heard anything.

Somewhere in the middle of the relief over finding XL-3T09 and the others he called friends, the vehicon considered it. A few cycles later, when he'd been moved back to his official quarters (apparently the autobots found it easier if everyone remained where they used to be. Perhaps that was because XL-2M99 was the only vehicon to have atypical quarters and Ratchet was convinced the vehicon wanted to continue attending his shifts in the medbay even after the other had entered it), he considered it more.

It was Breakdown knocking now. XL-2M99 shoved his makeshift barricade away and let the door open.

They'd only met a few times (most of which were in the medbay while the vehicon's welds were being finished), but he did seem like a pretty decent person; his interactions in the medbay were what had led him to picking up medical tablets and set him on his path to the officer position he had at the end of the war. The vehicon was less intimidated around him than he was any of those wearing the autobot brand.

"You get your energon cube today?" the forged asked him simply enough.

The autobots seemed to think all vehicons were idiots who forgot to fuel themselves unless reminded, it seemed. Had he a mouth, he would be frowning.

"I am scheduled to get it later," he answered neutrally. "It is my one chance to see X-...to see a friend."

The other nodded absently.

"Alright. Got it."

But he wasn't leaving. The invisible frown remained.

"Will you be heading in-" the nod at the nearest door down the hall made it clear what he meant by that "-this cycle?"

Why did Breakdown care?

"Will the autobot medic be there?" XL-2M99 asked in his answer. The quiet that both stewed in following that was enough for both of them.

"You really don't want to work with him, do you-" Breakdown muttered down at the floor.

XL-2M99 didn't deign to vocally respond.

"I'm not exactly a fan either," the defector started up again. "We barely work together because of that. Other than when he fixed my optic, we've tried not to interact much. But why won't you?"

The vehicon stared.

"Would you want to share a workspace with whoever took that optic from you?" XL-2M99 finished.

There was dead silence after that. The forged started looking down the hallway rather than into the room.

"I see your point," he growled.

Then came the offer, the big pitch. XL-2M99 couldn't say he wasn't surprised.

"You've done a good job here from what all the other troopers have told me. No, you're no doctor, but you've still figured out a way around the medbay in a short span of time. I'm no doctor either. Look-" Breakdown vented loudly. "Medics go through a whole lot of training. We've already got two on board and presumably they'll be more with every new ship that comes here. But you don't have to be a medic to work in that field. You could be an assistant, a nurse; like me. I can train you for the job."

He wasn't sure if the offer made him excited or filled him with dread. He wasn't sure of anything.

It sounded so much better than dealing with Ratchet's attempts to speak sickeningly careful to him.

It sounded like a way to befriend the mech whose humorings to a berthbound vehicon was what led him to the glyph on his shoulder in the first place.

And that sounded like betrayal, somehow.

"I-"

Betrayal why?

Because it would be replacing one blue mech with another.

XL-2M99 shook the thoughts and straining tone away.

"I want to see Dreadwing. Let me see him and I'll think about the offer."

* * *

The Prime had come twice. The second commander had come one more time than the Prime had.

Fear of a harsh sentence was not what kept him seated unmoving on the single bench. Defeat and failure were far more painful than any sort of worry for his own future. Those he had sworn himself to were all he could find worry for.

He hadn't seen any since the war's end. As tempting as it was to request visitation, he would not. For one, he was not sure how such a request was meant to be made. It revealed his inadequacies. He did not know how to operate a military position like this; he did not know what demands to make or requests to plead; he did not understand the officialisms the enemy commander's kept bringing him. Optimus Prime seemed to realize it; he also seemed to pity him visibly after that realization. Dreadwing had grown clearly angry for the remainder of that meeting after noticing the pity; his anger drove the other away and left him in silence again.

Then it was only a return to solitude. This brig, like the rest, was lit only by ambient green. Such lighting was dim. It was demoralizing. He supposed he was glad there was a bench in here. So far as he'd seen, the larger brigs did not have any such comforts.

A noise rapped on the door in warning that it would soon open. Dreadwing pulled his head up and let his legs straighten out. Another so soon? Ultra Magnus had just been here.

When the door opened, he was staring at it. The resignation for another official drafting session faded away at the two behind the door. One was the traitor Breakdown. The other was a vehicon he had almost expected to never see again.

XL-2M99 walked in hesitantly. Breakdown waited for him to enter before shutting the door once more. Judging by the creak of weight, he'd leaned against it and likely would until the end of their conversation.

Their conversation? He had not expected this chance; not so soon, at the least.

Neither spoke for a while. XL-2M99 had made his way over to the bench slowly and sat on the very end of it. It was his way of staying far from contact. Dreadwing was not hurt to see it, no matter how much he wanted to hold the other as evidence that both were unharmed and alive.

It was not an uncomfortable silence. He wondered how long the autobots would allow this visit if neither were even heard speaking.

"You didn't chase after Starscream," XL-2M99 vocally noted after this pause.

Dreadwing did not confirm what was already known.

"You stood down instead of trying to kill the autobots or die trying."

That also did not require confirmation.

"I'm glad you didn't go after him. I had hoped you wouldn't."

The seeker straightened from his hunch against the wall at that. XL-2M99 was looking forward across the room, but continued to speak as though rushing to finish his words before interruption.

"So thank you." The vehicon finally looked over to him. "Thank you."

There had never been apologies or thanks before. They had held in the air, but had not been vocally admitted by the other. Not officially, even if they seemed implied by the vehicon.

Dreadwing's mouth parted but the words he wanted to say felt blasé.

"I don't know what I would have done if you were dead."

That was familiar. He said as much: "I worried you would be hurt after you were taken by the autobots." He almost reached for the other, but remembered to hold back. "I am also glad you were not."

The other's visor brightened before he looked across the room once more.

"But why?" Dreadwing asked. "You said we are not brothers."

The answer was short.

"And we're not."

"I am afraid you detest me."

"No." XL-2M99 shook his head. "I do not- I don't hate you. I wouldn't have been so worried you would chase death if I did."

It was logical enough. He should have expected such from such simple logic, but inadequacy made him worry regardless.

The vehicons were no Megatron; Megatron had always been clear about his emotions. He had been clear with Skyquake and Dreadwing. His care for them was shared and their loyalty was unbreakable. Or it had been, before Skyquake died and these vehicons had lost their own brothers and Dreadwing had stood on the bridge of this warship instead of going to help or avenge his dying master.

After another silence, XL-2M99 spoke again.

"The others wanted names."

They had? He did not realize it.

"They deserve to have ones," he answered. It was honesty. They deserved far more than names; they deserved to have their bodies retrieved and treated just as a forged would; they deserved anything that would make them important enough for such treatment.

"I told them you wouldn't call the idea treason," XL-2M99 replied with the hint of a smile in his voice.

Dreadwing matched the hint with a small smile of his own, however brief.

"I went looking for one too."

Had he found one?

"They were picking Earth names," the medic continued.

When there was so much heritage from Cybertron? Dreadwing supposed that not even most mechs knew of the heritage he did and let it slide.

"They- the humans- have got this one story; it's this bird. It burns itself up, but instead of dying, it comes out of the fire whole again. They've got all sorts of names: Phoenix, Firebird, Konrul." XL-2M99 shrugged. "Humans tend to take ideas and spin their own flare on them depending on where their geography is."

Humans were much like cybertronians then.

"You wish to adopt this creature as your name?" Dreadwing asked.

The vehicon went still. Then he made a noncommittal gesture.

"It's not perfect, but it's more than the numerical designation of a drone for now," he answered. "I figure that if I can change it once, there's nothing keeping me from changing it again when I find a better name."

The reasoning was sound enough. Both mechs were silent again. Dreadwing tried the alien name in his head. He stared at the burn welds on the other's face and understood the inspiration.

"Then you are Phoenix?" he spoke aloud.

The vehicon shifted.

"For now."

He sounded very unsure. The seeker sought to reassure him.

"It is a fitting title," he said.

It may have been in his imagination alone, but he thought he saw the other relax.

After another moment, Dreadwing reached over to the vehicon.

"I am glad you told me," he swore while he set a servo on the other's shoulder. To his own disappointment, Phoenix shrugged away from the hold. He stiffened up as though only now noticing that he had done so.

"I'm sorry."

It was the first full apology he'd heard from the vehicon. Just as earlier, when he had heard the first thanks.

"I don't want to be touched," the vehicon explained. "It's- but..."

It hurt his spark to hear. He tried not to allow it to feel so personal. He had seen the vehicon acting this way even with those like XL-3T09.

There was a hesitant shift in the weight on the end of the bench. Phoenix reached out cautiously as though to put an arm around the other. It never made it. The arm fell down to one of Dreadwing's. A cold servo fell stiffly on his. The seeker did not grasp it immediately. He felt sudden movement would end the compromising moment.

It was no embrace.

It was the happiest he had been since watching Megatron die.

* * *

Honestly, he wasn't sure if this was against rules or anything. He hadn't exactly checked with anyone about it.

Thing was, he wasn't an autobot. He didn't answer to them. Even if his amica did, he didn't technically feel like he had to.

And the other thing was, he liked the troopers. He felt bad enough that he'd had to betray them all and even kill a few after Knock Out's defection.

So this was him making up for that. Did he have clearance to make up for that? Who cared. Breakdown wasn't sure what was so bad about letting the vehicon go talk with the surviving con anyways.

Although, he had to admit that he was surprised by it. Obviously, some things had changed in his absence. Before he'd gone, Dreadwing was the new guy. He'd been obsessed with Megatron and not much else. They'd gone into the forest to kill Airachnid and he'd run off while Dreadwing yelled at him to stay back. Then there'd been the arctic, but they were technical enemies at that point.

And now it seemed like every time he went to catch up with any of the vehicons, they just talked about him. It was Dreadwing this, and Dreadwing that. The part of him that sounded like Knock Out wondered if any of them had talked about him like that after he'd left the warship.

By the time the vehicon had knocked on the brig door to signal he was ready to leave, Breakdown was very curious over why the current commander had gotten so popular.

The medic vehicon walked out without a word after he opened the door. For a moment, he stood there waiting for Breakdown to take the lead.

"You know the way back to the medbay?" the blue mech asked rhetorically. "Go ahead without me."

The vehicon stared at him for too long before he did leave.

Alright. Now for Breakdown's turn.

The neutral entered the brig and watched as the con inside glanced up in surprise at having another visitor.

Breakdown stood by the door and looked down at the con. The seeker stayed seated and looked up at him. Neither moved.

"What is it you want?" Dreadwing broke the standstill with a growl.

That sort of tone made the atmosphere feel a bit hostile. More than a bit, really. But maybe that was just Breakdown's own tendency to default to his fists talking.

"Your visitor," he said. "I've offered to show him a bit of nursing. He should be doing fine in the new world."

The seeker's frown loosened to flash pride for a moment.

"So he told me."

Alright.

Now, anyone polite would probably give a thank you for offering it to their friend.

"Phoenix has done well in his position, despite lacking training," Dreadwing ended up continuing with that same air of pride. "Letting him continue to work in the medbay is wise."

It wasn't quite a thanks, but Breakdown would take it.

"So this, uh, 'Phoenix'-" the blue mech started up again. "You guys are close?"

"We are not brothers," the seeker said as if it was an answer. It really wasn't, even if Dreadwing seemed to act like it was.

"Okay." Breakdown frowned. "Well, he refused to consider my offer until he talked to you. I figure that means you matter to him."

There was a brief surprise at the news that the vehicon had demanded coming here before striking any deals. Then Dreadwing relaxed against the wall behind his wings. Matching the motion, Breakdown's back found the door and he leaned against it with arms crossed.

"You know, I used to be pretty close with a lot of the troopers too," he said casually enough.

There was nothing casual about this environment, however. No amount of lounging would put either of them in distracted ease. They weren't friends. They weren't coworkers anymore.

"Are you envious?" Dreadwing responded.

Breakdown lifted on brow.

Maybe a little, but he hadn't thought the other would pick up on that.

"Can't I just be glad they found somebody else after I left?" he said with a shrug instead. "Most of the cons would be okay with fighting to the last rather than trying to cut a deal with the autobots for their sakes."

The conversation had already drifted off. The seeker was looking off at the wall. Breakdown pushed down offense at being ignored.

"You're a decent guy," Breakdown finished flatly. "I've noticed that there aren't many of those on this side of the war."

Judging by how distant Dreadwing seemed, he supposed the vote of confidence didn't really make much of a difference.

* * *

Deep in Earth's oceans, an ancient power reached for a puppet. The Prime's attack on his anti-spark left him weakened. Rising in a form of his own or bringing his original body through space to consume the planet who'd stood against him so often was impossible. He would need to regain strength before he could do that. It was possible that he would never be able to move thus again after the attack of Primus's puppet.

Even dead, the other god had managed to live through a proxy.

Why could Unicron not do the same?

The corpse lay on the floor of the sea. It was dark and lifeless. Its spark had left its body.

But it had not returned to the Allspark.

The taint of dark energon carried it elsewhere. It drifted down from the warship while the body fell; it floated down through the water; it sank to the dead core of an immortal god.

A spark joining with anti-spark was a sensation that would draw any attention. At most (the Allspark and the anti-spark), the combination would wreak devastation on both. For a unity of a mere mortal and the anti-spark itself, there was only discomfort on the side of the spark. Its person found awareness in this discomfort.

Megatron awoke.

* * *

_AN- Konrul's are similar to Phoenixes in their reincarnation cycle. Their myths don't necessarily have them bursting into flames to be reborn, however._


	93. Rivalries: Ancient and Concluded

_AN- First scene is a flashback to the era of the original Thirteen._

* * *

The beings faced off over astral planes no mortal could truly witness. Their shadows cast large mockeries of their frames behind them. One was twisted spines, branching limbs; all reaching, all hungry. The other's shadow could hardly be called such; it shone brighter than its surroundings rather than casting darkness.

Plates peeled back to show dentae. They curled and compacted inwards as the smile carved wider; the mouth of a devourer.

_You've lost._

The taunt made the other swell with prideful arrogance.

_Your victory is not assured. My children will defeat you._

The smile curled and curled until it was no expression at all. The being laughed in anger.

_You are a fool,_ he swore. _Your miserable arrogance seals your fate._

Primus did not flinch at the promise. His enemy's ire grew at the reaction.

_You will not see truth?_ Unicron growled.

_I will not see you, soon enough,_ the first immortal swore.

It was enough that this monster had, in his wanderings, stumbled across the world Primus called his- it was enough that this wanderer had sought to wage war and destruction on this world-

But Primus would not stand to facing insults.

_How right you are,_ the other purred. _Soon enough, you will not see me. You will see nothing. For some time, I considered sparing your wretched little planet._

'Wretched': an insult to the form Primus had taken on outside the astral?

It was one of many.

The consideration of leniency Unicron implied may have been true. It did not matter if it was taunting fabrications or not. The planet wherein Primus rested was the goal of the devourer now.

And most immortals did not lose sight of their goals easily.

_But now?_ Unicron rumbled with vindictive, hateful amusement.

_You shall witness its dismemberment._

The promise hung in that plane.

It hung there even after eternities had passed within and millennia had outside.

It was a promise Unicron would see to upholding, no matter how long it took. His hunger demanded it; but it was his pride which required it.

* * *

There was nothing.

First came a pain. It felt like volts in his spark chamber; or rather, that was the closest analogy he came up with. It was energy and volts were energy and they were different but similar enough.

A presence unfolded around the brief discomfort. It swelled around everything. It felt as that incident after the spacebridge explosion had. Ancient. Whispering. Hungry.

Then, there was /_sound_/. A vague yell, repeated. The sound of a large space, or lack of sound thereof.

And an irritating buzz.

It rang in his audials too loudly. Enough to be uncomfortable, but not from a source he could quiet.

Fortunately, the ringing faded as the yelling became more insistent.

"-Megatron!"

Oh. That was him, wasn't it?

Megatron opened his optics to a scene of ambient nothingness and a single other being. This was no physical landscape. So he was on some other sort of plane of being? How strange.

The sting of his spark was fading as well. It was caused by proximity to something ancient, but it reminded him of what had happened regardless.

The autobot scout had driven a sword through that spark.

So he was dead, was he? Death felt very lifelike then.

Of far, far greater importance was the giant looming in front of him. Megatron realized he stood on nothing; he was elevated on nonmatter as though he stood on solid ground, yet the being in front of him stretched far below (and above) that 'ground'.

His optics widened to their limit at the face before him.

"Unicron?" he spoke at last. It betrayed his confusion with this- all of this. If he was dead, then he was dead; he should have joined the Allspark, not stood in front of the god he thought he'd killed.

The being rose taller still (even as their distance thankfully spread from how he straightened up). There was no trace of amusement on the dirty face.

There was no reason for any of this.

"I do not understand," Megatron looked at his servos. Felt their plating. Sensed their presence. They felt so very real. "Why am I not one with the Allspark?"

A sudden thought came unbidden. He blurted it out without thinking.

"Do I yet live?"

The very air around him rumbled. Unicron's mouth had moved in the briefest of scoffs.

"You do not," the being denied. There came that movement again; perhaps it was a smirk, rather than a scoff. The plates hanging down obscured the mouth too much for him to tell. "Yet you cannot join the Allspark-" Unicron added.

Whatever remained of Megatron's dead spark fluttered at that.

If it had been said in life, he would have laughed and brushed the statement off. For one, there was no proof. For another, he would not be dying anytime soon.

Except he had died.

Except he had not joined the Allspark.

"-because my lifeblood once flowed through your veins."

Except he...

he never would.

This, then, was it: the road foreclosed, the line ended. This ambient blankness and dirty god were the last line of existence for the warlord.

"Dark energon?" he made to confirm.

"It binds you to my anti-spark," Unicron did confirm it.

Frag it all. Then he was to be stuck here. Unless...unless he could possibly return to the living realm. Then- dark energon blocking the Allspark or not- he merely had to remain alive, Unicron be damned.

And here he had thought the god dead.

"Optimus Prime used the Matrix of Leadership to imprison you within the Earth's core!" Megatron gestured upwards at the looming giant. "So how is it that you speak to me now?"

The dead were meant to remain thus unless he, Megatron, deigned to bring them to a mockery of life for his own purpose. It was true that his ability to do so depended solely on the substance that now bound him to the anti-spark of the chaos bringer, but he still held onto the idea proudly. When desperation made to rear its head, pride could cover it; and for a cybertronian to hear they were blocked from the Allspark, desperation seemed a fitting enough reaction.

Raging against the impossible survival of the being he thought he and Optimus had killed- or at least imprisoned forever- was far preferable to wondering what future lay before him.

"The foolish Prime rendered only my material form dormant," Unicron answered. "But my energy form was roused from slumber when I sensed the awakening of an ancient rival across the cosmos."

There could be only one rival to whom he referred.

"Primus," the warlord breathed.

Sometimes the name was used as a curse, as a plea- he said it for confirmation and yet it was not alienated from those former uses.

"So it would seem that Optimus succeeded in restoring Cybertron after my _demise_."

And it would seem he had missed the chance to see it happen.

He had not seen the goal he had sought after since learning of the omega lock and it was all Optimus's autobots fault.

They would have to pay for that, he thought with offhand amusement before Unicron spoke up once more.

"I now wish to finish what I began eons ago," he droned. "And, for that-" the weight of the god's stare was literal pressure on whatever false/real form his spark here wore "-my anti-spark requires a vessel."

There was only one way to take that. Megatron took it cautiously.

"Then.." he narrowed his optics at the being, even as his tone grew hopefully softer. "I will live again?"

The pressure around him was wholly unamused.

"_Only_ to serve me," Unicron said in disinterest- a disinterest that he could hear carried threat. "Your husk will simply be an instrument of my will."

Wherever that 'husk' lay, he felt it now. It was not the form his spark wore here, but he was connected to it regardless. The pain was enough to prove that as Unicron flayed it open and spread it larger. He felt the energy and metals tearing through his body, but he was not one with his body any longer.

It was a material frame; Unicron held his...energy form, the other had called it? in this alien plane. He listened to his own body scream as it was changed and considered his current situation.

His mind still registered what his body experienced- and it was far from pleasant- but it was Unicron who steered the husk's every move.

How...wonderful.

* * *

It was an idealistic day.

Perfect, it could be called.

The sun was bright on a planetside that had not felt the warmth of starlight retained in some time. The wrecked buildings all around couldn't distract from how alive the ground's reflection seemed.

Alright, that was enough poetic nonsense for him now.

It was a perfect day, but Breakdown wasn't here to have a picnic and make pretty lyrics or something.

He finished the drive to the construction site. The autobots were trying to set up a hub for all new arrivals to come to first. A landing pad was being constructed on Optimus Prime's suggestion; it was the worker's idea to make the hub around it as well. Supposedly, the vehicons were pretty talkative with Bulkhead. It was almost surprising. They were pretty skittish around any of the forged normally. Still, Bulk was probably one of their best choices when it came to trying to pitch ideas to autobots.

Breakdown transformed and carefully extracted the two cubes of energon he had been carrying in his main compartment. Not far away, Bulkhead was showing something on a datapad to a group of vehicons. They ran off after an energetic nod and ignored how the wrecker was reaching after them; a moment later and he ground the palm of his servo into his face with an unheard groan.

Heh. Looked like they were eager enough to miss out on listening to full instructions. That was a good sign for the future of this entire project: more mistakes, more injuries from those mistakes, and way less unhappiness for all those involved.

Bulkhead finally looked away from his datapad (and his servo) and saw him standing there.

Well, Breakdown had his attention now.

"Catch," he said and tossed one cube to the wrecker. Bulkhead managed to grab it without crushing it. Almost a shame; it'd have been funny to see otherwise. But it'd have been a waste of an energon cube, so Breakdown supposed the alternative was good enough.

"Hey, is that- huh." Bulkhead looked into the cube (probably seeing from the coloration and consistency that it was pretty plain energon, all things considered) and shrugged. "Thanks!"

Breakdown finished strolling over.

"Figured I'd save you an extra trip. 'Brought one for Wheeljack too, but I don't see him around."

Which he was pretty glad about. Hanging with Bulkhead wasn't so bad, but the smaller wrecker was only appealing when he was offering high grade to them all.

Sadly, that hadn't happened yet. Maybe Bulkhead's construction team could work on a dispensary next.

Nothing like bribing the bots and cons and neutrals of the universe to come back with high grade.

They cracked open their cubes (no point letting the absent wrecker's go to waste) and found a seat on some rubble. The datapad of blueprints and such stayed next to the wrecker even while they fueled. Bulkhead's optics were focused over at the vehicons on the scaffolds.

One group managed to trip a different vehicon. It got the overseer's attention, not that he could do anything about it from this far away. He was groaning while the crate being carried by the tripped drone fell on top of some other unsuspecting trooper. Unsurprisingly, the trooper dropped under the sudden weight. Breakdown barked in laughter.

"I swear," the wrecker grumbled after the free comedy skit ended. "These guys are walking disaster zones."

True enough. Not that it stopped them from being competent or good workers.

"Recruit more of the miners," Breakdown suggested. "They've got more experience with this type of setting. These flyers probably all came from Screamer's 'armada' and, as you can probably guess, he mainly just prioritizes looking pretty and doing fancy aerial tricks." He shrugged. "Not exactly like the operation you've got going here."

Of course, the miners were happy to not be mining or doing heavy lifting for once. The jets were excited about showing their mettle on the ground. Who he had here after the first round of asking for volunteers was probably the best he was going to get.

"Maybe if I had some more people to help me with keeping everything in order here, less of these accidents would happen," the wrecker said.

"Maybe," the blue mech swirled his drink and downed it. The empty cube was set at his side, much like how the green mech's datapad was for him.

The other looked away from the scaffold to stare at him calculatingly.

"You haven't come to offer your services by any chance, have you?" Bulkhead asked.

Breakdown laughed. "Pit, no! Besides, I've got a job in the medbay."

A nice, complex job that used more than just brawn.

Not that he'd say that in front of the guy who only had brawn as a career option.

"Shame." The wrecker smiled, obviously having expected the answer. "I tried to get Jackie too, but he's busy with other jobs. Looks like I'm on my own."

Well, he was the only one any good at construction management anyways.

"Looks like it," Breakdown parroted.

The duo was quiet a moment. The construction zone hardly was, but they had nothing to add to the noise just then.

"But hey," the blue mech pushed up from his casual lounge. "I can always bring a cube by again."

It was offered comfortably enough.

"I'd like that," Bulkhead said just as comfortably.

The rivals went back to their lounging. Scrap, if Motormaster could just see him now...the thought made Breakdown smirk. It was outlandish. So was the present. Who cared anymore?

"So. The war's over."

No slag. But he'd said it anyway. He didn't quite know what else to say at this point.

"Crazy," the wrecker said.

Apparently, both of them had lost the comfortable airs of just a moment ago.

_Now what?_ seemed to be the question shared by both.

"I guess the rivalry's over too."

Bulkhead shook with a single, inaudible laugh.

"I'm sure we can find something to compete over," the wrecker offered.

It wouldn't exactly be hard to. Breakdown's mouth quirked into a smirk. Bulkhead took another drink. Both watched out over the construction zone.

"But yeah."

The wrecker's comment brought his attention over again.

"It's done," Bulkhead continued. "Right in time for the end of the war."

Timing was a sardonic glitch. Everything important seemed to have happened right in the time before the end.

"Been meaning to tell you, actually. Since you mentioned it. I mean, I really would be good with you dropping by the hub here," the wrecker went through words choppily. "It's funny to me. When you guys first showed up to the base, I wouldn't exactly have seen this coming."

Yeah? Ditto.

"I didn't want to ever get friendly. I figured I'd learn to put up with you around the base, but never anything else."

Alright, now this was gonna be getting awkward. Breakdown sat up again and reached for his empty cube. The wrecker just sat forward too and looked at him seriously.

"Listen," he said. "I think after all we've been through, I'm allowed to say it. With a different start, you'd have made a damn good wrecker."

Breakdown felt his mouth part. Bulkhead didn't change his expression after saying it; didn't look joking or sarcastic or even awkward. It was just the same earnest stare and that was what took him back more than the words could.

Wreckers weren't exactly a compliment to be compared to. Or they weren't supposed to be. He'd been dragged into the war just to fight them, not to be told he could have made one. After the vorns he'd spent killing any that he and Knock Out ran across, it wasn't exactly something he'd expected to ever hear either.

There wasn't really anything to say to that. They went back to sitting and watching the scaffolds.

The energon hadn't been a high grade, but it felt pretty warm in his tanks. He had his suspicions as to why.

"We should get to Bee's ceremony," Bulkhead broke the silence after a while and gestured half-sparkedly at the road. Breakdown shook himself back to the moment.

"Yeah. Don't wanna miss the kid's big day."

Quite honestly, he didn't. It was almost funny how many others didn't too. The scout would have quite the crowd watching him get his promotion.

It seemed like just about every cybertronian on the planet was going to go watch the promotion.

* * *

The sky was a light pink. It was the day cycle of this sector of the world.

Kaon.

Or what had formerly been known as Kaon. The grand statue of Megatron was a good way to register the location and its former loyalties- the bombs stuck in the cracks of the statue notwithstanding.

As one solitary presence, Team Prime was lined behind the very mech who had killed that warlord. A lone predacon stood away from the others under the shade of an empty building; he was there to watch, but he was not among them.

The last of the Primes- a fact none but he himself knew was true- stood in front of the scout.

He was speaking while the celebrated autobot stood beaming.

"We have endured bitter hardship and countless battles-"

Across the cosmos, a corpse writhed on an ocean floor.

That body was the source of those hardships and continuous battles.

It stumbled forward on corroded pedes: its puppeteer ready to cause infinite more.

"But at long last, our home planet has been restored."

Deep within the living planet rested the material form of an ancient being. One whose energy form was still weakened from millennia of near-death slumber.

But one restored nonetheless.

"We would not be standing on Cybertronian soil were it not for the valiant efforts of both those assembled here," Optimus nodded at them all. "-and our absent comrades."

Countless autobots fallen.

Countless cybertronians dead.

An Allspark of the dead and unborn hidden in the depths of space.

For them- all of them- these had been valiant efforts.

These were heroes.

_This_ was _victory_.

"Those human friends who remain on Earth-" the Prime chose to address the most recent of absences. "-And Cliffjumper, who made the ultimate sacrifice."

As many had.

As so, so many had.

Deep within Cybertron, Primus grieved.

"But on this day, at the dawn of a new era, we gather to bestow a special honor."

The sky was so bright overhead. It was so unlike the constant darkness those present had grown accustomed to constantly seeing in their planet's sky.

"One earned-" Optimus gave a small smile directed at the autobot standing in front of him. "-by Bumblebee."

The scout continued to beam.

He knew he could have made it to warrior class millions of stellar cycles before.

He never allowed it.

It had always been his hope to go through one of those official ceremonies (left over from the early autobot army's traditions) on a Cybertron free of war. Not Cybertron's husk, but the real, living planet.

This really was just a dream come true.

"Through his bravery and devotion to the cause of peace, long before he rid this universe of the scourge of the decepticon warmonger- "

The very warmonger that had entered that universe once again, though none on Cybertron had realized that yet.

"-and in the company of your fellow autobots, in the presence of our creator, Primus, the living core of our planet-"

The star saber was lifted. Bumblebee kneeled.

"And by the authority vested in me by the Matrix of Leadership-"

The flat of the blade tapped down on both shoulders.

"Bumblee." Optimus gazed down at his young autobot. "Arise a warrior."

The scout-turned-warrior stood from his kneel and found himself surrounded by friends.

No. _Family_.


	94. What's Eating You?

_AN- Second and third scenes are occurring a few days before the others._

* * *

Per the norm with Optimus, there wasn't time for an after party. Sure, Wheeljack blew up the statue of Megatron and everyone got a chance to slap Bumblebee on the back, but there wasn't much after that. Optimus had wanted to leave to retrieve the Allspark immediately. He'd taken Wheeljack with him; the wrecker had the most experience of the bunch navigating deep space (besides Ultra Magnus, but the commander had more jobs that needed him to stay planetside than the loose cannon of a wrecker did). After that, everyone had pretty much drifted off. Arcee had to prepare for a scouting job (she was currently in charge of hunting for Shockwave and Starscream) that cycle and dismissed herself to get ready. The two she was taking with her were forced to leave and prepare as well. Ultra Magnus had just as much time to celebrate as Optimus did (read: none) and returned to the _Nemesis_. Bumblebee had his own ideas for how to help, but he didn't rush to start them. Instead, he was walking down the empty streets of old Kaon with Predaking. The neutral had come to watch his promotion upon Bumblebee's request. Honestly, that just made him feel like the chances of an alliance solidifying were better than ever. They certainly seemed likely. Even if he was stiff at the thing itself, he'd accepted the idea of a walk pretty happily; the two had left after that, even if some of the autobots were still left behind hanging out.

At first, Predaking merely gave vague congratulations and compliments on the ceremony. He seemed rather distracted. The sounds of the autobots in the clearing (or what ones remained there) gradually faded the more they moved on through the ruined city.

After a bit of this stilted conversation, Bumblebee had made a note of it.

"You sound preoccupied," the mech pointed out. "Are you worried?"

The predacon seemed taken off guard, although he carefully returned to sophisticated calm quickly enough.

"Not worried," he denied. "Merely...busy. I apologize. I _was_ listening."

That wasn't what Bumblebee was worried over.

"What's eating you?" the autobot asked. The other seemed to trip before glaring at him.

"None could defeat me thoroughly enough to do that."

Alright, that was really besides the point. Also brought up _way too many_ questions on what predacons did to other predacons they'd beaten up.

"It's a matter of speech," Bumblebee said. "I just wanted to know what you're busy thinking about."

Predaking took the correction in stride. They continued to move smoothly again. The yellow mech waited patiently for an answer; he was pretty confident one would come.

True enough, the predacon did reply to him.

"I am going to search for Shockwave," Predaking explained faux-casually while they walked.

That almost surprised him. He hadn't heard the neutral bring up looking for Shockwave in a few cycles. _Optimus_ had brought it up and tried to organize a joint mission, but Predaking had lately been very closed off about the search altogether.

"Okay. If you wait a half cycle, we can help," Bumblebee offered.

The predacon's face seemed to flash guilt before the expression tapered off.

"No." Predaking shook his head; he ceased to walk and turned to face the smaller mech. "While I appreciate the offer, I..."

Bumblebee's optics were at their max. He knew from Earth that the expression he was trying to weaponize was called 'puppy-dog eyes'.

For a nano, it seemed to work. The other's normally confident tone faded off.

Ultimately, it failed.

"I do not wish for help in this," the predacon declared. "This is my hunt. Do not take this from me."

As much as he wanted the other to feel like he belonged with other cybertronians, Bumblebee would respect it.

"Optimus thought you would be leaving with Arcee's team later today," he said. "We thought you were rendezvousing at the Hydrax Plateau."

_We would be right behind you._

_You wouldn't have to do this alone._

Predaking looked conflicted.

"I see."

His mouth opened for more, even as he stared out over nothing and spoke no words for a short time.

"Shockwave will be found."

That didn't mean he'd be found by the autobots or the predacon. It didn't mean Predaking would be at the rendezvous.

Bumblebee watched his new friend depart with a melancholy smile.

Even though the predacon had not said it, he knew the other would be leaving without them.

* * *

Upon leaving the _Nemesis_ for the first time, Predaking searched for fields.

He wished to know all those who existed on this planet.

He wanted to know if one specific being was here.

And the flat field- however unknowingly- reached back at his prodding.

The predacon swooped low and sped towards that faint life sign. He felt it joined by another he recognized; one far more colorful. He felt three more: fainter, yet more colorful still. Familiar. Familiar in a way neither Shockwave's nor Starscream's were.

Their energon traces joined his tracking when he drew close enough. It seemed that they led back to this:

This mound. Inconspicuous. Drab. Just as Shockwave preferred things to be.

Predaking landed outside the hill with a crash. He scanned the doorway in front of him; signs of use were high, recent. Energon shadows were left from touches on the metal door, pedesteps on the ground. The fields within were not hidden from his reach by these meager walls.

He'd strode forward without even a second thought spared towards the autobots who wanted this location and these mechs. His only priorities were his own.

His own and his peoples.

Perhaps Shockwave could begin again. Perhaps he would have brethren. He supposed he could even forgive his creator for the massacre on Earth if those _perhaps's_ occurred in the now.

In a few steps, he was at the doorway. There were controls for it, hidden on the wall of the hill. He could sense them from the energon shadows that drifted from the door to them; or from them to the door, as it more likely was. A quick search confirmed his hypothesis. Predaking tore the metal outcropping hiding the controls from above away and poked at them.

Sadly, they were less willing to oblige than the databases on the _Nemesis_ had been. And evidently, his attempts to make it past the security of his creator (rather than simply tearing down this feeble door; he _did_ want to have room to make his case and request to the scientist and it stood to reason that destroying parts of his lab would be rather bad for those chances) were drawing attention; his audials caught the noises within the lab. The voices. The words.

The complaints, as it were. Because with Starscream, complaints were a guarantee. Or so Predaking had learned to assume from their time together.

"-are compromised. Fend of the intruder while I prepare to move the clones."

That was Shockwave.

Despite all reason, Predaking could not find rage towards the scientist. He never had been able to; not even when he was on a rampage with every goal to kill all the decepticons on the warship.

"Me?"

That was the seeker screeching.

"Why not send your precious pets?" the flyer was complaining. His colorful field was ripe with panic that had only joined after the first attempts to unlock this door.

"They are preoccupied," Shockwave shook him off. Predaking could hear the sneer in the seeker's voice, even if he could not see it. "Why do I always have to clean up after your messes?" Starscream growled at the scientist before stomping for the door. The predacon stepped from the useless controls and waited for that doorway to slide open.

He was not disappointed.

With a creak of the hillside's metal, the entrance unlocked. Starscream had his weapons ready even as he was looking to the side in distracted disgust.

"Alright, who-...oh..."

Oh was right.

It seemed he'd been recognized. Had the positions been reversed, the other would be taking advantage of this moment to smile dangerously. Predaking's own frown was unmoving.

"A-eh-well." Starscream's weapons raised while he blustered for some sort of convincing ploy at friendliness to stave off an attack. "Predaking? Why are you alive?"

That? That wasn't convincing. The predacon curled a lip up to growl and watched the seeker shift backwards.

"Didn't stick," he hissed before looking past the decepticon to the cave beyond. "Where is Shockwave?"

Not that he didn't know. The bland field was still nearby.

"Who are the other three?" Predaking jerked his head at the entrance.

Starscream lost his caution to stare flatly at him.

"What?"

Either he was playing dumb or-

Oh, right. Cybertronians couldn't sense others the way he could. They were blind to the wonders of the world.

"I can sense them here. Three more than just you and my creator. Who are they?" he took a step closer to loom over the questionee. Starscream laughed nervously.

"I'm sure I have no idea-"

Enough of this. Predaking pushed past the decepticon and stormed into the lab.

It was one of the smaller installations. Seeing every visible part of it took very little time of investigation at all.

Behind him, Starscream was scrambling to catch up. In front of him, Shockwave had turned to stare at the visitor. There was something resigned in his field.

But while Predaking had come here for Shockwave, he had lost sight of that purpose. He had been distracted by those strangers he could sense here. Even now, in such an enclosed space and so near them, he felt almost suffocated by their presence. And he knew- he confirmed- he read- that they were his.

Brethren. Predacons.

"Where are they?" Predaking asked. Shockwave did not move. He strode forward and lifted his voice to a yell. "Where are they?"

Something clattered. His attention shot from the scientist to the darkness beyond empty cloning tubes.

As though convinced the game was up, two mechs came forward from where they had been hiding.

So they had already discovered transformation? A part of Predaking had hoped to tutor brothers through that step. It seemed he would need to loosen that hope; at least, for these brothers.

Shockwave had finally moved; he turned to glare behind himself.

"You were told to leave," he said accusingly (or as accusingly as his voice could). The two predacons glanced at each other. One smirked. The other giggled.

"And miss out on the fun?" the tittering one said. He started forward, ignoring his creator. The other did as well, though he moved along the side of the wall. They were attempting to box him in. They underestimated his ability to see right through them.

"So." The first one prowled up to him and looked him over. "You're the predecessor, huh?"

There was something rather insufferable about this one. He'd expected more respect from his mighty race. This one seemed more cocky than even the silver autobot fledgling.

Perhaps it was his personality. Perhaps having Starscream around from birth was at fault. Predaking could not say.

"I am more than your predecessor," he warned the child. It received only a grin.

As close as they were now, Predaking could see them. He could see the residues of former lives. Their original forms. Their names. He briefly found himself wishing that it had been Fangback, Redclaw, Ionspine; their taints on Earth had spoken of maturity and courage.

"Hear that, Skylynx?" the one in front of him asked. "He's _real_ special. Thinks he demands respect."

Oh, he demanded far more than just polite respect.

"Do not aggravate me," Predaking said. "We are a people, not enemies. It is not your place to question my authority. I've come to free you."

And the third, wherever she lay.

Skylynx laughed from where he was still prowling along the wall. Darksteel giggled again.

Alright. That was it.

"Get outside," he growled and pointed at the door. Starscream ducked against the wall to avoid being hit by the gesture.

The two smaller predacons shared a glance.

"Why?" Skylynx taunted. "Who made you boss?"

He would be calm. He would be calm until they were all outside the lab. The equipment needed to remain protected so that more predacon clones could be safely made.

"I am not your boss," the original denied. "I am your _king_."

That, at least, had them following his order.

Mostly because they were smart enough to know their fight was better had outside.

* * *

The duel had been short enough. Short, but brutal. There were two of them. They fought in their predacon forms while he fended them off as the mech he chose to be; until he, too, chose to battle as their ancestors had.

Despite the advantage of quantity, they still were defeated. The golden warrior had been the king of legions long lost for good reason. After he had pinned them down, they proclaimed nervous loyalty. Only after they had done so did he step off their forms and let the two crawl to their pedes once more.

At the entrance to the lab, the decepticon scientist watched them all.

"An impressive display from my creations," Shockwave had said. From where he stood against the hill nearby, Starscream rolled his optics and muttered something under his breath.

Despite the role he likely played in their destruction, Predaking had taken the scientist's compliment with excited pride.

In that moment, everything had fit.

In that moment, the future had seemed clear.

He would keep the autobots from finding the decepticons. Shockwave would continue to clone predacons in return. The two that were ready (he was personally shown the third by Shockwave after the duel; she was still trapped within the fluids of her birthing tank) would respect him and protect the laboratory until they were ready to reveal themselves to the world. Until then, they would fly together in secret; away from prying optics.

It was a promising balance. He would be joined by brethren whilst also preserving the growing alliance he was forming with the autobots. Shockwave had set his good servo on his arm and told him his idea was wise. Predaking had enjoyed the approval and left after spending the evening with the hidden group.

In hindsight, he supposed it was too good to be true. When he'd next had the chance to visit, he found the lab empty. The cloning tanks were gone; they had been moved. The computers were scrubbed. Wherever they'd disappeared to, it was better equipped to keep him away. The fields were masked. It seemed Shockwave had accounted for predacon's innate tracking abilities when he set up new defenses.

It really did hurt. But Predaking tried to ignore such emotions and focus only on tracking this new base down. He would be a scout. He would find whatever hole they'd crawled to. He would approach them after doing so and show them all the pointlessness of their attempts to hide from him.

The autobots wanted so badly to help. But he could not let them find Shockwave. Not before he had, at the least, and shared exactly how he felt about this betrayal with the rebels.

* * *

The blank ambiance had changed. Now, he stood suspended as the world around his form moved on. The colorful tearing of energy surrounding his body as it flew was an experience similar- but extended in length- to a spacebridge. Megatron found it intriguing to watch this energy waving by.

If he'd had these upgrades in life, he would never have needed a spacebridge. He would have faced Optimus down easily.

Oh, that would have been preferable to reality. He could have defeated his enemy; he could have witnessed Cybertron's revival. The image was easy enough to imagine: Optimus, defeated- brought down to the ground. Left alive so that he could witness his final failure and Megatron's final victory. The omega lock would cyberform Earth. Unicron's useless corpse would become something for his decepticons to control. It would cyberform Cybertron next and revive the world his war had killed. Optimus would have been crushed. Megatron would have been ecstatic.

Instead, the scout had killed him, dropped his body to the bottom of some organic ocean, and Optimus had revived the homeworld without even giving him the courtesy of letting him watch his own defeat. He'd been seemingly forgotten while all others disappeared to Cybertron and no doubt began to act like his war had never happened.

There was a brief pressure on his mind. It seemed Unicron did not appreciate his mental disrespect. Megatron pushed his own complaints on fate aside to avoid thinking of his failed plan to cyberform Earth (and the disrespect that plan apparently was to the god at the Earth's core).

"A super-luminous space drive," he changed subjects to distract the being. "Impressive."

Certainly, a little praise never hurt. And it was impressive; even Shockwave had dismissed the possibility of the hypothetical super-luminous space drive. Truly, with Unicron's power...

"One of many upgrades that I've made to your limited corporeal form," Unicron dismissed, disinterested. "And wholly necessary to reach Cybertron."

Megatron looked away from the energy waves to look at the being behind him.

"So," the warlord started carefully. "We are to rule together: as one?"

How very like their first meeting. Then, he had sworn loyalty. Then, he had called another being master. Then, he had claimed that they shared a spark.

The last of those rang true still. Only the last of them.

_It is only the beginning of what we shall accomplish together!_

In hindsight, Unicron's response had not been all untrue: he had been a 'prideful fool' to think that. There was no deal to be struck, no shared glory, no unity.

"You will rule nothing!" Unicron leaned overhead. Megatron felt himself stepping back, an arm lifting instinctively for protection. Pitiful. Though not as disgusting as his actions in their first meeting; then, he had crawled and simpered and tried to use the language he saw wielded so effectively by Starscream. He blamed it on the dark energon. Its presence whispered promises of a herald, of the glory that herald would wear forever.

That had gone nowhere, accomplished nothing. Trapped as he was to the anti-spark of this being, Megatron would wear caution; but he would never crawl in his presence again.

"_I_ travel to Cybertron for one reason only: to destroy Primus _personally_," the god continued; his voice was ever present, so loud it rattled this false body.

The spark dwarfed by the being shrank. Megatron was no fool. He knew what that destruction would entail.

Herald of Unicron? What a useless thought. There was no purpose to this creature. It would destroy everything that Megatron was destined to rule over.

There was no point in ruling ashes.

"But-" he protested. "To destroy Primus is to destroy Cybertron!"

He had not returned to be the instrument to which his goals were forever disabled!

There was just the slightest of smiles beneath those plates that obscured Unicron's mouth. The god had looked away from him as if he were too lowly to even acknowledge.

"Thus will begin the new age..." Unicron bragged. "The age of chaos."

Megatron couldn't say he liked the sound of that. Tyranny was, after all, the ultimate order. A tyrant could afford to be chaotic whenever they pleased, but their subjects had to concede to the order they demanded. Unicron would destroy everything he'd worked so hard to establish.

Not that it mattered. He couldn't exactly complain to the god. There was no telling how the being would respond.

So he would bide his time _quietly_.

There _was_ a silver lining in this; there _was_ a way for him to come out victorious. There _had_ to be.

* * *

The_ Iron Will_ flew from Cybertron. Its pilot stayed uncharacteristically quiet. He was just there to navigate. It was Optimus who knew where they were headed. It was Optimus who was leading this trip.

And it was Optimus who was sitting solemnly quiet in a seat too small for him.

Wheeljack had to wonder what the big guy was thinking.

* * *

She was listening.

It was all she was used to doing. She listened like the drone they pretended she was. It wasn't as if there was much of her left to really distinguish her from being one.

Her mind was more active than his though. For the first time in millennia, she took the lead while he regressed into nothingness.

Eventually, she would need to move. She would have to steal fuel from one of these shelves in the medbay. Perhaps she could do it without notice for a while, but it seemed that eventually she would be caught in the act.

But that would need to happen for some time. For now, she merely listened.

She listened to all those events around them both; to all events seen on this ship through the security systems she was still a part of; to all those signals from space that she could sense.

The information she found trickled down to him. Even if he was not conscious of it now, he would see the information waiting when he did awake. Until then, she balanced it all.

There was so much these autobots did not notice. They could not sense the sparkpulse of this very warship- revived since the omega lock had repaired the ship while its owner remained in stasis. They did not realize how insecure their brigs were- the major prisoner inside only remaining through pretenses and constructs, no doubt.

They did not know how weak their attempts at keeping him in medical stasis were. When he wished to awaken, he would; their wires and pumps and machinery would not hold him back.

But most importantly-

-they did not hear the signal pinging from deep space. It was weak, but present. Drawing nearer, though not stronger.

She chirped despite the presence of the autobot medic. She could hardly believe the signal was there again. She had thought it would never be online again.

This demanded early action.

Laserbeak overrode the stasis Soundwave had put himself into and pointed him directly at Megatron's approaching life signs.


	95. The Bringer of Chaos Arrives

Every other autobot but Ratchet was busy. One team had gone to scout for Shockwave and Starscream. The other had driven to Darkmount to look for possible clues in the databank there.

That left Ultra Magnus on the _Nemesis_. He was not alone. There were the vehicons to account for. There was Ratchet, who was currently in the medbay. And there were the high priority prisoners.

Ultra Magnus was ashamed to note he had let his guard down.

He had let his guard down, let those dangerous captives sink to the back of his mind- he was responsible.

It occured only 1.4 breems after Bumblebee's team had left. Ultra Magnus was on the bridge finishing the report for both that mech and Arcee's departures; they would, most likely, forget to do so. Optimus had left in his ship to find the Allspark and return it. The commander had allowed himself to grow hopeful that such a task would be successful.

The end of the war was confusing for him, but still very welcome. He'd let himself be swept away in the victory.

Still, Ultra Magnus strove to run a tight enough ship (even if the other autobots preferred to do things loosely). He required a status update from every autobot at reasonable intervals.

And this cycle- after all other autobots had left him for their own jobs- Ratchet did not send his in.

Ultra Magnus had grown concerned.

"Ratchet."

Nothing.

"Ratchet," he tried again. "Come in. What is your status?"

When the medic did not respond to that, the commander had grown highly apprehensive. He unhooked his rifle from where it rested at the small of his back and headed from the bridge towards the medbay. The door was shut. If he remembered correctly, that was unusual. Ultra Magnus adjusted his grip on his weapon and knocked with his replacement.

Still nothing.

He melted through the door after that and entered the room in alarm.

As a trained military officer, he had long ago learned how to analyze a room. First: Ratchet was there. He was not moving, but he was there. Second: the vehicon on duty was not there.

But most importantly: Soundwave was not there.

The decepticon spy had been restrained to a berth pushed against the wall. He'd been kept in medical stasis there. It was meant to be unliftable. Ultra Magnus had been against the plan. It was far too risky to keep such a dangerous decepticon outside of a fully outfitted brig. Ratchet and Optimus had outvoted him.

Were he a different mech, he would have felt vindictive now.

The room itself was messy. One door was opened; it led into darkness. A quick overview of the ship's layout showed that it led to the medic's personal quarters that were attached to the medbay. There was equipment knocked to the floor near the ground where Ratchet lay. Likely upheaved when the medic had fallen; perhaps he fell against that table and that had been the cause? There was only speculation on his part.

In any case, he had other priorities now. Ultra Magnus approached the unmoving autobot with caution. If this was a trap, he did not wish to be caught unawares. By the time he had reached Ratchet, nothing had struck him. The commander knelt and turned the other autobot's face up carefully. A quick scan showed all life signs functional. Relief ran through him.

Field medicine was far from the complexity that those like Ratchet worked with, but it still did the trick. Ultra Magnus worked on awakening the other autobot with what field medicine he knew and he succeeded. The medic shifted with a groan. One servo lifted and clutched his forehead.

It took a moment for Ratchet to reorient himself. Only then did he look to Ultra Magnus where the commander was kneeling nearby.

"Ratchet," he started. "Report."

The medic groaned and rubbed his head again.

"You won't like it," Ratchet warned.

That much had been clear from the start.

* * *

It'd been a few orns since he was in deep space. The second time he'd dropped by Earth for a visit, he'd pretty much ended up selling his days of space travel away- at least for a while. There were a lot of good reasons to stick around. All things considered, he didn't regret it.

The orns outside his ship hadn't really let him lose his practice inside one. Even if that ship was Mag's instead of his. The _Iron Will_ functioned similarly enough. It was lacking in mods and those extra controls Wheeljack had carefully set up the _Jackhammer_ with, but that was just so fitting of the commander, wasn't it? Either way, Optimus had barely fit in the _Jackhammer_ that one time Wheeljack had taken him looking for wherever Bulkhead was being kept by Dreadwing. That was a pain neither really wanted to repeat. Even if he stuck out in Magnus's passenger seat, it wasn't as awkwardly cramped here in the _Iron Will._

Jours passed. Wheeljack kept his servos on the joysticks and his optics ahead. Optimus was looking gravely at his knees. He'd been frozen in that position the whole time. It made the silence more noticeable.

It was fragging uncomfortable.

But when the Prime finally broke the quiet, the mood didn't really seem to lighten.

"Wheeljack," he had begun. The wrecker glanced over to show he was listening.

"How have you adjusted to peacetime?"

Uh. He hadn't had a whole lot of time in it to really say yet.

"Figurin' it out," the wrecker shrugged. "Why?"

Maybe he should have asked something like _and you?_ He was pretty curious.

Optimus hummed.

"Is there anything you would change? Any specific laws you think should be implemented?" the Prime pushed.

Laws? Who'd he take Wheeljack for, Magnus?

"Not really the right bot to be askin' for that sort of advice from," he smirked.

The expression was, of course, not mirrored.

"You will have a place in this world," Optimus said after the moment had drawn on long.

Okay?

"All of you will. You've made it through the Golden Age, the age of Primes, the Great War- you will all make it through whatever preliminary difficulties there will be in this peace time."

Wheeljack's optical brows drew together. He didn't like the sound of any of that.

"You make it sound like you won' be there," the wrecker noted as casually as he could. Optimus did not exactly move to reassure him.

"I'm merely finding all that I am thankful to have had the chance to witness," he stated. "And the members of Team Prime's happiness will be the greatest reason for gratitude of this stellar cycle."

They were both quiet again after that. Wheeljack never lost his frown. The boss had always been enigmatic, but now he just sounded like he was certain that he wouldn't be surviving this trip. Sure, they were headed into the Theta-Scorpio star system, but Optimus was tough. The most hazardous system in the galaxy or not, it shouldn't be enough to make him kick the bucket.

So what did Optimus know that he didn't?

* * *

They were in the middle of an actual job and this was what the kid decided to do?

Bulkhead stared at the throne of Darkmount in disbelief. Or, more accurately, he stared at the mech currently sitting on it.

"Lord Smokescreen-" the rookie was saying to himself in a deepened voice. "Emperor of destruction."

He decided to flail his arms and legs around after that. Bulkhead...wasn't really sure why.

Smokescreen caught him gaping and paused mid-flail.

That was enough of that.

"How can you sit there?" Bulkhead protested.

The rookie didn't react.

"That's some bad mojo," the wrecker muttered and tried to ignore the silver mech.

What? He wasn't superstitious or anything but goofing off on Megatron's old throne? It just seemed like it was inviting trouble.

Bumblebee straightened up from where he'd been working alone.

"I've got it!" he turned around and waved a datastick at them.

That was a relief. The sooner they downloaded the map of Shockwave's lab network from the Citadel's databank, the sooner he could get out of this throneroom and its current 'emperor of destruction'.

The idea had been the brainchild of Bumblebee and Knock Out. The former was free to drive out to Darkmount that night and look for the map. The latter was busy being dragged along with his partner on Arcee's own search for those labs and the gruesome twosome hiding inside. So far, they hadn't really heard anything from either her team or the _Nemesis_. It left them free to finish the long drive out here and skim through the databanks.

"Good," Bulkhead sighed and relaxed a bit. "We can get out of here now."

They didn't do it; not immediately, in any case. The black and yellow mech had paused after reaching him.

"Hey." Bumblebee lifted a servo and frowned out over the open landscape. The other two autobots pulled up short at his command and frowned that direction as well. What did he-

"Something's heading our way."

Bulkhead strained and sure enough...

"Predaking?" he asked hopefully.

The former scout shook his head minutely. "Moving too fast."

That didn't leave many friendly (by a given definition) airborne options.

"Starscream?" he offered.

Bumblebee's mouth opened to answer, but the words never got the chance to come. Whatever it was, it was fragging fast. The flightframe shot down through the open walls of Darkmount's throne room and crashed into a messy transformation sequence.

There was no mistaking that size, those spikes, that face. There was no mistaking the malice either.

It was an inappropriate comfort that Bulkhead could see Smokescreen finally sliding off that jinxed throne; the kid was motioning to it nervously while he inched away, as if sitting down was all Megatron had come back from the apparent dead to do.

* * *

The first thing he'd said upon landing was odd enough.

"Minions of the Prime, prepare to be obliterated!" had been what was growled out to all of them before anyone else could talk.

Now, Smokescreen was pretty new to this game in a lot of ways, but he didn't remember Megatron being the type to call them all something like 'minions of the Prime'. They had a name. Autobots. So far as he'd seen, it was that name that got growled out on the regular.

But that aside, Smokescreen had priorities. Namely, he had questions to ask a certain Bumblebee.

"You skewered bucket-head with a giant saber and managed to miss his spark?" he protested.

The other two ignored him in favor of asking Megatron himself why he was alive and where he'd gotten the (ugly, in Smokescreen's stylish opinion) upgrade. The warlord had seemed disinterested in giving simple answers.

"Megatron cannot answer you at this moment," he answered in Megatron's voice (so. what the frag?). "-though I can inform you with _utmost_ authority that he owes his new lease on life to me: Unicron!"

Unicron? The old boogeyman from the legends?

What was going on here?

"And I will not be so easy to deliver into oblivion," Uni-tron? Mega-cron? growled. Then pink crystals had grown out of his fragging arms and he'd started to attack. That pretty much meant the end for all their attempts to figure out what was going on.

Sadly, they seemed to decide not to fight and ran instead. Bumblebee tried to reach the Nemesis groundbridge controls and got nothing. Smokescreen tried his own trick.

_«Ratchet, buddy, you there?»_ he commed directly while hopping over a dark stain on the ground that hadn't been there before a batch of pink crystals had exploded nanos before.

There was some spluttering on the other end.

_«I'm a bit busy»_ the medic finally found words. _«We're trying to work on-»_

_«Yeah, I'm sure you are»_ Smokescreen interrupted. They ran from Darkmount and found themselves on a deck above a smelting pit that was, for whatever reason, still going. This day. This slagging day. _«But we've got an emergency and need a groundbridge stat. Unicron is after us and we're gonna get slagged if youdon'tgetus-»_

Unicron flew down after them and Smokescreen found himself falling down towards that same stupidly-online smelting pit he'd just been complaining about mentally. Someone grabbed his arm before he dropped too far and the rookie found himself hanging over the pit miserably.

_«Right now, Ratchet! Right! Now!»_

Hopefully that got the guy to rush to the controls and get them out of here before Bulkhead lost his grip on his arm.

Somewhere above them, Unicron was yelling for them to 'behold' his 'infinite might' or something. What a blowhard. Sadly, that blowhard was a bit more powerful than any of them were equipped for dealing with. The ground beneath Bulkhead started to creak. Scrap, scrap, scrap- Smokescreen glanced down at his other arm to see if he'd remembered to bring the phase shifter along and instead got distracted looking into the molten heat of the smelting pit. Scraaaap...

The ground broke. The autobots fell. The rookie yelled.

And a groundbridge swallowed them up midair.

* * *

From outside the body of this puppet, Unicron watched as this first test drive failed to yield proper results.

Such weakness would have been infuriating enough, but the spark tied to his would not cease to speak. His patience grew ever thinner.

The first of the autobots had tried to attack. As one behind a veil, Unicron noticed it sting the husk he possessed.

"Bothersome pest," he spat to a captive audience. That audience thought it his place to respond.

"That pest-" Megatron pointed at the events occurring inside the realm of matter. "-is the very one who robbed me of my spark."

How trivial.

"And now I possess the power to return the favor!" the mortal continued with vindictive excitement.

How petty.

"You possess _nothing_," Unicron warned. He let the mortal feel a touch of the unknown beyond, a touch of the power Unicron possessed. Perhaps the warning would keep him from continuing to brag. "It is I who possess all that you were and ever will be."

To his satisfaction, Megatron cringed away from the noise of his material voice. It was spoken with purely for this mortal's benefit; a true god did not need to speak vocally when there were so many planes of communication available to them.

Showing those depths may break this puppet's mind. Thus far, there was no reason to do so. The husk worked best when its processor truly did function. For this purpose, it did live again; even if its original mind was stuck outside of its function.

Even with those methods in play, the puppet did not succeed. Unicron snarled both in the host and out. The autobots had fled with their lives. In his full power, they would never have gotten the chance.

"I am weak," he snarled in frustration.

Megatron had blinked at him in confusion.

"But our merciless attack-"

Our, was it? So the mortal still thought they ruled this husk jointly. Fool.

"-drove the autobots into submission! They fled for their very sparks!"

Was that meant to be a victory? Little wonder this warlord had not won his war against the foolish Prime

"A victory over unworthy opponents, especially one that did not result in their demise, is far from an achievement," the god denied and enveloped the mortal with warning pressure again. He did not desire to hear any more of this prattle. "Clearly, our improved state is not enough to accomplish the deed for which I have come. For that, I shall require a much greater instrument of destruction."

An expression of frustrated hatred flashed over the mortal's face. Evidently, Megatron did not like the insinuation that another was more powerful than he. It was something he would need to grow accustomed to.

The body flew over Cybertron for less than a breem before anything was sighted. Megatron had remained sullenly silent throughout it all.

At least until the husk's optics saw the plume of fire beckoning any to it. It was from a primitive life-form. One that Megatron proclaimed was a _loyal and powerful combatant who could very well be the greater instrument of destruction_ that Unicron sought after.

It had been a lie. Unicron had landed down and demanded the creature serve its master. The predacon had looked at his form, heard his voice, and its optics had gone wide with hateful recognition.

Through the audials of the mortal, both observers heard the snarled words.

_-In the name of the mighty legions of predacons who preceded me, I shall never again yield to your charge. But I will heed your previous advice and face my true enemy...as a beast!-_

That proclamation and the powerful attack that followed, however surmountable, had pushed Unicron to the edge of what patience he had. While he puppetted his host to battle, his energy form's avatar loomed over Megatron.

"You dare to deceive me and have both of us destroyed?" he asked in disbelief.

Megatron had the gall to turn one corner of his mouth up.

"Perhaps not destroyed," the mortal replied casually. "Just damaged enough that our shared form will no longer be of use to you and force you to abandon what remains."

The casually airs left and were replaced with angry determination.

"For regaining my freewill, even over a mangled and deficient frame, is preferable to enduring a waking life as your slave!"

Oh?

Was that so?

"For your insolence, I will only make you endure greater suffering-" Unicron warned before sending energy through the mortal's astral form. While Megatron writhed on the floor of nothingness, the god turned to the defeated predacon and peered into its mind.

There were visions there. Tainted in gold and glow and warmth. Visions of legions of warriors just as capable as this foolish one had been.

It was a victory. Those legions were dead and, in being so, were his to summon.

The image of those predacons of old faded away. Unicron let them slide past to focus on a more immediate noise. Megatron was laughing through what pain he'd set automatically on the mortal.

Such amusement was greater insolence yet.

* * *

Through the burn, the voice of one who should have been dead cut through the sounds he himself was making.

"You think it your _place_ to laugh?"

It was better than groaning over the energy coursing through him.

And it seemed that doing so had angered the god.

How pathetic.

Megatron grit dentae and glared up through the clearing violet energy at the face of that anger.

"Do you think it will cow me?" he said even as his voice rattled from the vestiges of electricity. It seemed this false body acted just as one alive would. The burns left tingling over his plating were confirmation of such a guess.

"I have not truly felt pain since the mines," Megatron smirked at the subdued shock on his ineffective tormentor's face. "I will not cower now."

Not in the face of a god that paled to amount to the terror he was.

The energy rippled over him again. But this time, he could not watch it. This time, he could not see the attack on his own frame.

This time, he felt that pain vaguely while his mind was shoved somewhere else.

It was dark here. Dark and familiar. A mine. Oh. Oh, that was ironic. The body he wore was not of a silver warlord, but the dusty black of a miner. It seemed Unicron had misread him. His upgrades after the mines were what kept him from feeling full pain- it had nothing to do with what punishments his memories put him through down here.

It started slow. A cough of laughter. It rippled outward in a dark chuckle.

"You think that intimidates me?" the dead mortal laughed. "You think threatening to expose me to these mines will make me break down?"

The laughter cut off. Megatron gnashed fangs sharply.

"These mines have held no power over me for millennia. I will never return to a nameless drone, forgotten by the universe. My deeds will always be known by the universe as one akin to the Fallen"

_to you,_ he added inaudibly.

"and other legends that remain immortalized by the fear they spread."

While Unicron's face and form were not visible in the darkness around him now, his presence was as palpable as the electricity coursing through his frame on that original astral plane. It bore down on Megatron with fury.

Let it. Let him come. Let him think he could enslave his puppet.

But Megatron was no one's slave.

And he refused to be brought into humiliating servitude by one who's own atrocities paled to all Megatron himself had the power to do.

"I showed this universe what suffering looked like," he bragged to the presence around him. "I showed it tyranny; I showed it peace; I showed it a balance that depended on my whim. _I_ taught every cybertronian the meaning of pain and helpless misery. _I_ was the scourge of the universe while you were the dead core of a forgotten planet. You have my spark, but I promise you can do nothing to me that compares to what mark I left behind in life."

Only the dripping of energon from a crack in the mine's wall could be heard for some time after his proclamation. The deadly quiet soon began to make Megatron unsure. Perhaps that had not been the best way to drive Unicron from his frame and mind. Perhaps...

Finally, the presence of the one who sought to master him returned.

"_You fool_," Unicron hissed aloud so that the mortal could hear it. "You claim that you were the source of this eon's suffering? Then you will know your own boast tenfold."

Outside the memory- outside the plane where Megatron's form had been enduring the electric attack for less than a second of the mortal world's time- outside the husk both hosts wore on the surface of a mortal world- Unicron watched in fury.

The mortal had thought himself a god.

So Unicron would show him the power of a true immortal- the incomprehensible, eternal, devastating power of a god on a braggart.


	96. A Taste Of Eternity

_AN- Chapter warning for murder, death, somewhat described violence, emotional manipulation, and Megatron just being awful all around for a good couple millions of years._

_The writing style for this one is a bit different from earlier chapters, but hopefully not too confusing to follow._  
_The idea herein of what the experience with Unicron entailed during Predacons Rising has actually been done in multiple fanfics and is not unique to this fic alone. Credit goes out to those fics._

* * *

Something was wrong.

He could not tell what, but the feeling was all pervasive.

There was a painful disconnect when he thought of himself. His name was Airstream. He was a guardsmech for senator Decimus.

Why he was, he could not tell. It was not right.

There was a crash near him. He bunkered down; the rifle in his servos was comforting

(even if he never used a rifle; it was a blade or a cannon- where were they?)

until the mechs outside did break through the pointless barricade. Then, the rifle lost its safety. It was inadequate. He and the senator were doomed. Their makeshift barricade had failed to keep attackers out of the penthouse floor.

The first mech came in through the dust. Red optics flared, dentae bared-

and he knew. He understood the disconnect, if only vaguely. He knew it when faced with everything he _knew he was. _

Airstream. It was a name he'd heard from one of the soldiers who'd recognized the guard. He pinned the name to the face only because he could recognize the body when he'd first become aware of being in it. The mech had been painted such a garish red, after all. It was easy to remember him.

It was easy to remember everyone he'd faced down. Even organics had enough features that he could commit their faces to memory. He'd said as much to the cowardly human on Earth- Jack, was it?- after all and he'd meant it and- and another knew it too.

Where was he? He wanted to narrow his optics and demand the chaos bringer explain this new game. But he could not. He could not seem to change anything Airstream did.

Which made the fight quick. Airstream had never posed so much as a threat to the decepticon who had come to kill the senator.

Just as he remembered their faces (their faults, their weakness, their slights against him), he remembered how each one had died. Or he thought he did. Perhaps the chaos bringer was elaborating on gaps in memories. Perhaps he would grow bored of having to do so. That hope did not stop the first fight from playing out.

He felt the pain of a crushed cockpit and the fires that had melted through this flyer's body, but pain was nothing new to him; the ability to still think through it came as a necessity in the arena and solidified by the time he was leading a war against a rather powerful Prime. So he thought as the body his mind was convinced was his own burned.

He thought on how curious it was to see his true body standing overhead. Quite curious. This was an experience quite unlike any other.

But once Airstream's spark finally faded, he felt any curiosity he'd once felt at being one of those he'd killed was sated.

_Unicron! _he tried to yell, but had no body to do it any way but nonvocally. _What are you trying? _

There was no answer. The blackness of death had already faded. A new body was being worn. A new death was dished to it.

Another.

And another.

_Unicron, answer me! _he tried again, this time while in one of the false memories itself. And this time, his mental shouting was responded to.

_-yes_?- the voice of the chaos god entered the mind currently wearing a frame being stomped to bits. -_do you not yet understand? and here I thought you proclaimed yourself a power of the universe; what sort of cosmic power is not, to a degree, all-knowing?-_

He wanted to snap at the arrogance there. If Unicron were in any degree all-knowing, he wouldn't have been tricked into attacking Predaking.

Judging by his circumstances, snapping was not his wisest option. He resisted it.

_-let me explain it in a manner your mind can comprehend: this is eternity; this is the suffering of the universe; that was what you called yourself, did you not?-_

That didn't explain anything!

(it did, but the fledgling fear the situation had elicited could not be acknowledged)

This time, Unicron did not speak again. His presence vanished. The illusion grew in that absence. It was difficult to retain his own sense of self when thrown into so many other bodies; and their minds...their minds began to show as well. Sickening emotions were shared, were experienced, were forced from what creativity there was to explore another.

Fear, pain, hope, betrayal- an inescapable storm.

Each time, it was harder to differentiate himself. His cold curiosity over the details of this punishment (how could Unicron know exactly what these dead felt? was it among his abilities as a lord of the undead or was it all falsehoods perpetuated by creativity? or did they come from what he expected these faces to have felt in their moments of oppression? they were too alien, too genuine, in that case) kept him focused for some time, but even that grew noiseless.

When a million faces were worn, no question remained interesting enough to distract from chaos.

How fitting it was of Unicron to call himself the chaos bringer- and how foolish cybertronians were to not understand and brace against the many meanings of chaos itself.

* * *

The importance of this mission was impossible to understate.

That importance fueled a bravery that otherwise would have been absent.

The blue and yellow mech fought with his unit while the Prime did his job. They were a distraction. Distractions were far from invincible.

But those were the risks. The whole fragging planet was dying anyway. What did it matter? There was no living here anymore. There was no point in living on gray streets, unearthing corpses on accident because of the sheer, inescapable amount of them everywhere, on a planet that had lost its sky and air and living ground.

The decepticons had ruined life here. They would ruin all future life as well. So the Prime had to do it. He had to. And he needed backup in order to get away with his goal unscathed.

The cannon he was working at jammed. Slag. Determination to keep the cons busy while the Prime got away sent him off the thing in favor of firing his much less dangerous weapons. It didn't take long for the cons to overwhelm them all.

He was shoved against a wall spitting and shoving. The warframe holding him there just grunted. He'd kicked the lunk in the head and cursed and tried to free his arms.

If this was the end, who cared. The cons had seen to the real end long, long ago.

His despondency would have been painful if he wasn't so slagging used to it.

"You. Autobot."

And wasn't that just the last voice he wanted to hear?

Slagger had taken his planet from him. He'd taken _everything_. The autobot hated that sole mech as much as he hated the entire decepticon construct; they were one and the same, weren't they?

"Where are you hiding it?" Megatron stepped closer. He kicked at the aft holding him to the wall for good measure, even if it didn't help him get loose at all.

"Hiding? Hiding what?" he tried glibly.

There was anxiety pooling at it, sure, but he could hardly care for it.

If he was gonna die, it was going to be making sure he'd done his damned best to keep the cons away from the future of the murdered planet.

"Lord Megatron-" a different decepticon stepped over the corpse of one of his squadmates to murmur something to the warlord. A holoscreen was shown and then put away again.

Megatron looked back to him with obvious danger.

"So Optimus thinks to distract us while he can flee with the Allspark that belongs to me?" the warlord mused.

Bitter, helpless hate boiled over at that amusement. He didn't bother to shove it away, even if it wasn't very autobot-like. At the same time, it was so _wrong_; it did not belong to _him_; _he_ did not hate himself to any degree. To be forced to feel such distaste at himself...

"You won't take it!" the autobot stayed defiant.

The cabling in his throat was torn away for that defiance.

One of his squadmates was the next to live in this manner. The battle was foregone. These faces were pointless. They fought for a pointless mission. They rose up again and again as vengeful ghosts- unable to scratch the decepticon cause in life, but more than willing to wear down its head in death.

It did not matter.

He would bide through each of them and whatever others came next.

He _would_.

The alternative was servitude without rebellion, was begging without cause, was selling life to another and giving up on one's own.

It was an alternative he had demanded from many others, but one he refused to consider befalling himself.

* * *

The first official autobot casualty in the war hadn't been nearly important enough to remember the name of. But he remembered how that face had constricted in horror as he'd tried to scramble backwards and found it impossible. He remembered all their faces.

There was something thrilling about holding power over life and death. One of the greatest ironies of the pits of Kaon had been just how powerful each gladiator had been. They served overseers. They were chained and caged. They were bet on and forever trapped in a system thats salary would never pay them enough to buy their freedom.

And yet they were free. They were more free than the overseers. They were elevated above the crowds who watched them.

For they held a power that none of those mechs did.

They determined who lived. They determined whose sparks would extinguish.

It was, of course, all in a controlled environment. For as extreme as the rush of power was after conquering an opponent, that gladiator was still caged in the pit around them.

But in those moments of bloodshed, that construct dissipated.

Who could call themselves masters when they had never held a life in their servos?

Killing was intoxicating. Every gladiator who lasted more than their opening battles came to realize that.

While they awaited their next rounds, the pressures of reality constricted into suffocating helplessness. There was no alternative. There was no life outside the pits. There was nothing but success so that the enthusiastic patrons of the arena were pleased with the turnout.

While they watched the lights of an enemy's spark fade to darkness, their reality proclaimed them a god.

Which was the truth? Once, Megatron had been interested in finding it. It was a passing interest; he did not depend on an answer and would not stop his brutality if he found one, but curiosity still desired to know.

The idea that someone else similarly held life and death was incomprehensible. It had been all the way until steel had shoved its way through his chest and he had- in singular clarity- understood he was going to die.

He had been Death for megenniums and in a single moment another had dethroned him for the title.

An autobot scout. A simple, sad, weak little scout.

Power had shifted to another. Power had left him powerless. The power gained by being death betrayed him.

Pitiful.

As pitiful as the startling pain he felt at being torn apart-

-and the inescapable fear that had followed:

this was the beginning of the autobot-decepticon conflict.

If Unicron planned to continue this game, then there were millions of chances for him to experience Death acting on the justified power he held.

* * *

It was funny how small the majority of autobots were. They tended to flaunt such weak frames and altmodes.

They were so much easier to kill when they were fragile.

It was disgusting that one of those smaller fighters had managed to kill him.

It was far more disgusting still to be that scout.

Tyger Pax.

A seemingly infinite audience. Their optics bore into him as they watched- each one driving in the reality of helplessness that entrapped him. The pain of losing his voice.

A pain so much more than physical.

Curse Unicron. Curse him to whatever pits awaited a creature of his kind. These pains were unreachable, unthinkable, and forced upon him still.

Could he hear that? No doubt he could. Megatron did not care. Frag the bastard.

Tyger Pax shifted into a separate interrogation. He'd conducted multiple over the war. So very many. He grew sick of watching himself through an autobot lens. It was tiring. It was wearing. It was forcing panic forward that he knew he could only stave off for so long.

But that was the fragger's plan, wasn't it?

He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. It did not matter that there were thousands to go. This took time enough. Eventually, someone would damage his husk enough that Unicron would have to give up this game. Resisting until then was well within his capabilities.

If only his frame were easier to damage.

Of course, if he was going to bother with the 'ifs' of life, there were far more important ones.

If only he'd never tried to use dark energon to raise an army. There had been plenty of other ways to create one.

If only-

Oh, but if he started this then there would be no stopping.

And he planned to keep himself from tumbling over the edge of any panic or despair this was trying so hard to elicit.

* * *

The crowds were roaring outside. They had feasted on energon and lusted for more.

He would oblige.

The ax in his servos had never done him wrong before. He had never done himself wrong before.

It had been seventeen vorns since he first was brought here. In that time, he had never lost a single fight. If he had, well- he'd hardly be here waiting for this door to open.

For the first vorns, he had been terrified each fight would be his last.

Now, he forgot to register the possibility at all. He had survived this long. It seemed destiny held to his continued presence in its script.

"And your champion-" the voice outside roared loud enough to be heard over the delighted screams of the crowds. "-Megatronus!"

For a single moment, he stepped back.

Champion?

The pits had no champion. If any were to be called such, it should be one like him. One who had fought for over a millennia and survived to fight on.

It should not go to a pretender. The gladiator growled. He was angry, bitter, betrayed.

When the door slid open, he wasted little time in attacking. The gladiator wanted to rip the gray mech apart. He felt that rage through impossible dissonance. It was impossible to loathe the one he stared at when he knew that was who he truly was.

The illusion pressed harder until the rage and vengeful passions were all that consumed him.

It built and burned and hoped until the blade cleaved through his shoulder. Then another blow cut behind a knee joint. He'd tumbled and heard the crowd. They wanted death. It was indiscriminate. They would cheer for his.

But it wasn't supposed to- it wasn't meant to-

The opponent cleaved again. They were not killing blows. Not yet. The battle was over. But the pits demanded energon. Battles ended long before death was finally dealt out.

It was so wrong. It was impossible. It hurt like nothing else, but there was not even time to consider the pain. Not when the passions of rage were chaotically gasping for life among a reality wherein _he had lost._

The crowds cheered and they were not meant to. They were meant to chant only for his victories. They should not sound so hungry on his defeat and yet they did. They had lied to him. They had strung along promises and devoured him whole.

Megatron watched him die and he had returned the stare until his optics had frizzled out. Only then did the emotional chaos fade and allow him to differentiate his own among those of a nameless mech.

He did not even know the gladiator's designation. He'd never been important enough. Despite illusions of importance, the pits had never cared for his millennia of survival.

Not enough to provide the reigning champion a single reason to consider the death of that opponent.

* * *

This one was small. An autobot? Most likely.

Time did not seem to demand chronological order to this madness. The walls around him were the walls of the Golden Age, not those of a war-torn world.

Then who...

He knew these halls. He had come here time enough.

A hundred deaths had scarcely torn past his defenses, but _this_ would not end in death. He never had managed to kill this mech. Not in the traditional meaning, that was; the Primehood had changed him enough for the original to be considered, in a sense, dead.

Then his time of observation ended and the complete wave of despair crashed against him.

It was enough to send Orion leaning. He caught himself on the wall and choked back a sound. He would not let any slip. He could not yet.

These halls...

He knew these halls.

He knew this set up.

He did not know this storm of misery. It was an agony complete. It was betrayal and sparkache and denial and grief. It was hope and it was, yes, hate. An emotion Orion rarely experienced but one that mixed with all those others now.

Orion had a capacity for emotional expression that was simply mindnumbing to experience. _He _felt inadequate in comparison. In comparison to all of these forced upon him, in truth. _He _was passion: pure, unadulterated, and yet diluted in all others.

But he had felt more than anger then! He had grieved and nursed the agony of betrayal and- and-

_Run_

_Run _

_Run_

_to new masters, new brothers_

_home_

Orion leaned further on the wall and clamped his jaw together. He would give no satisfaction through reaction. He would not break now.

_you're a pet of the council_

Why had he thought that? Why?

The ache threatened to consume him. The turmoil of the twists of the cycle shoved forward; how could a day that had started so good devolve into such a nightmare?

At least he could not hear the laughing from here. This hall was far enough that the noise had broken away. Orion pushed on. Despite the ache, the storm, he pressed on.

His trip to Rodian's _Dead End_ passed too long and too briefly. He was walking to the hospital as one moved in a flux. He pushed in and barely saw those around him.

Ratchet caught him when he wavered again. Ratchet always had.

Orion loved him so.

And he who watched was forced to feel that love and feel his own inadequacies.

* * *

Jetfire had wandered too close to the enemy. In righteous motivation, he had flown for the killer he called his most hated foe.

Somewhere, he had truly believed that he would get closure to that motivation.

The wires of his left wing were torn free and dropped to the ground by the warlord's pedes. Jetfire tried to swing his arm at the other in desperation; it swung as one overcharged and slapped ineffectually against silver legs. A servo caught it before it could rear back and then in a moment of blind agony, it was gone. Torn away.

Jetfire felt his damaged wings crash into the ground. He'd been thrown. It was hard to even tell so long as the fire from his missing arm flared so.

A blade was reared up. Jetfire tried ineffectually to shove away. Even if he had not had the debilitating injuries he had, it would have been impossible: the decepticon circle offered no escape.

That blade dropped. It missed his spark, but only just.

It was still so very lethal.

Fear finally found him. It had kept away so long as he'd had the hope of overcoming this. Now, the terror swam thick as the energon welling around the blade within.

He caught sight of the distraught expression on his most hated foe's face where the mech was standing nearby and knew he felt the same.

This was not the end of the line either had envisioned.

Death crawled nearer and he was terrified to meet it.

Death had never satisfied itself on pleas for more time.

And fear?

Fear, it seemed, was another sensation _he _had not experienced in its full vividity. But those murdered cybertronians shoved upon him shared the sensation clearly to the novice.

* * *

An organic did not find itself disgusting. It had no knowledge of its superior alternatives.

An organic could think much the same as any cybertronian could. Intelligence, it seemed, fit similar constraints no matter its evolutionary cortical differences over those star systems with civilizations.

An organic could feel with the same primal, animalistic panics and cognitive hopelessness.

He watched as planets burned. He watched as parents were crushed, carved apart, burned away. He watched as spawn, the hopes of the future, died and felt the ensuing grief before their own death came to silence all.

Humans, quintessons, and more and more and more.

He wore their faces to wear their grief and panic as those so certain of their own superiority laid waste to worlds alien.

* * *

He was a small frame again. Tiny limbs, airstreamed design. Fragile.

Its owner dawned on Megatron with creeping slowness. He fought down the rising panic.

Not this mech. Physical pain he could handle. Crippling fear from those he killed he could handle. The grief from Orion he could handle. This, he did not want to try.

But the mental attack did not pause.

He was sitting on a perch, swinging his legs, watching the most enamoring mech he'd ever met lounge calmly with a datapad.

"That Orion Pax came by me today," Starscream said. His legs waved beneath his perch. The silver mech didn't pay their movement any attention; his optics had moved up from the datapad and kept staring at his face.

"Did he?" Megatron humored.

"He told me to watch out," the seeker drawled casually enough. His optics were piercing the other with a sharpness his casual airs did not derive. "He wanted me to tell him if you've hurt me."

Like such a fool. Orion Pax was the laughingstock of this militia. He was the mockery of both these mechs in their private meetings of calm companionship.

There was nothing to believe in the words of a stilted lover, but Starscream analyzed the mech before him regardless. He had to know; he had to be sure he was safe here. That here he would be of great importance. Vos had chosen another, so he would show them just who they had turned aside. He would, through Megatron's help. They both would become legends, unforgotten, valued above all others. That was their shared dream.

Orion Pax had shared a dream with the revolutionary once too.

And he refused to fall into the pathetic disgrace that mech had.

So he bait his words casually and waited to be reassured.

"I said he was full of it."

The silver mech smiled.

Behind the screen, Megatron knew what it meant. He knew what thoughts stewed in this moment.

Watching absolute belief-

-knowing what happened millennia down the road to the absolute belief he'd seen on the mech who's body he now lived in

Watching one who'd already crashed the life they'd assumed so guaranteed and moved on to another life believing it would give him all he desired-

fame, power, importance

-a foolish, stupid blindness.

_He _had _absolute power _over this one mech.

Soon he would over so many more. Over all cybertronians.

And it would be up to his whim whether he gave them their desires or broke the absolute faith they placed in him.

He remembered what it had felt like to believe in another so absolutely. He remembered how it had rent him asunder to have that mech break that faith.

Starscream was watching his smile with just the faintest tints of relief. The silver mech kept it there, kept it soft.

Kept it ready to string this one along until he could betray all of that hope like Orion Pax had betrayed his own.

But at the surface Unicron shoved him against, Starscream could see none of these plans. And sharing him meant experiencing the disconnect of the seeker's blind faith and his own knowledge of what Megatron was thinking about that faith.

"I would never hurt you."

He believed it.

Despite knowing every reason not to, Unicron forced him to feel that belief.

\- a lurch

-a return

He was sitting on a perch, swinging his legs, watching the most enamoring mech he'd ever met lounge calmly with a datapad.

"That Orion Pax came by me today," he heard himself say again.

Despite bracing for it all again, there was no avoiding the misery of that disconnect.

* * *

-the scout again

World burning down around him. A hundred red optics eating into him where he was held midair. Like a stage. Like a meal. It was humiliating and terrifying and the terror was so primal, so inescapable.

After a few words, the break in torture stopped. Claws carved into his throat and through the determination and pain, it did not strike him what was happening until the wires holding the vital organ in place snapped.

His voice

_His __**voice**_

Never speak again, never speak, never laugh, never whisper, never live like others-

It was so much. It was not a limb, easily replaced. It was life changing.

And the face belonging to the mech that ripped it out just laughed.

* * *

The first, the guardsmech, the gladiator, the scout, the shuttle-

The archivist, the seeker-

The multitude. The aliens (those he remembered)-

He had called himself the source of the galaxy's suffering.

This multitude would agree.

Their pain, their fear, their hopes betrayed-

Life and death had been his and he had taken full advantage of such power.

Unicron's puppeteering was humiliating, but it was not oppression.

He _was _oppression. He was all that he had boasted of being.

And when that all had been turned on him, he found its intoxication tasteless.

But he had not finished, had he?

There were still more of those casualties to war he had not yet experienced.

He resisted, but the desire to plead for the being outside to stop this cycle grew pathetically among the cracks of breaking pride.

* * *

They stopped.

In one, mindreeling moment, they ceased.

There was no pain. There was no fear. Not from the being he now was.

Who?

The darkness around him seemed to answer it.

How ironic that they return here.

There was no comforting hilarity to that irony. When the chaos bringer had brought him here first, there was no impact that could reach through the construct around him.

Now, for however long until he had recuperated, he was flayed. And the flayed had no defenses.

There was nothing to stop all that attacked. The claustrophobic death sentence that a mine represented swallowed him whole. This was where he had been forged and where he was told he would die. Those on the surface would never know of his existence. He would not make so much as a ripple in the consequence of eternal history.

But they had been wrong.

They had been so very wrong.

He had to stop. He had to resist. He would not allow a failure on his part.

He had promised that the mines held no shadow over him anymore. Flayed or not, he would resist the despair these tunnels were created to be a construct for.

He woul-

In the wake of a million deaths, a thousand betrayals, a hundred crafted manipulations, there was no such thing as resisting. There was no such concept as control or pride or defense against the suffocation of this darkness.

He made to scream and could do no such thing.

He had not been able to control his bodies for any of the other memories; he had not been able to influence any of those situations to protect himself- why would he expect to now?

Yet it seemed to be enough.

Megatron felt himself pulled out. The sensation snapped. He stumbled forward and realized that the movement had been his to make.

There was translucent ground once more. The dirty form of Unicron stretched far above and below.

The relief at returning to this original state of half-life almost made him gasp. As it was, he clawed the ground merely so that he could feel his digits reacting to his wishes. The remnants of a ghostly electric energy coursed through this frame. Nerves were seared. Seams smoked. They were _his _nerves and _his _seams and that was some relief for the aches littered from the abuses dealt to this body while his mind lay elsewhere.

Unicron did not offer time for relief. His giant form leaned closer; a minimal movement, but one that felt far, far too close.

"For a mortal, living all those moments stretches into their comprehension of an eternity," the chaos bringer said with a voice that sounded more disinterested than angry. The mortal wanted to be offended. He wanted to demand to not be underestimated, brushed aside.

He wanted to avoid what the other called eternal suffering more than he desired that pride.

"And yet this eternity existed while only a single second passed in the time of the mortal world," Unicron continued and he felt his dead spark stall. That short of time? An eternity in nothing at all? If Unicron were to continue that cycle from now until someone on the outside managed to defeat him...the idea was distressing to consider, to say the least. "_This _is the power of a god. Would you care to experience it again?"

Megatron flinched and that answered before his vocal prideful comeback could.


	97. No Easy Answers

They tumbled out of the groundbridge onto the purple floor of the _Nemesis_'s bridging control room. First Smokescreen, then Bulkhead, and, a moment later, a much calmer Bumblebee.

Ultra Magnus watched them wordlessly before looking to Ratchet.

"A-ah-h-" Smokescreen panted as the residues of fear shifted into excited survival and he rolled up to his pedes. "Ratchet-" he looked at the medic fiddling with the groundbridge controls. "That was great!"

The medic did not seem to share his enthusiasm. He was stepping from the controls with his servos up in caution. The expression he wore seemed more haunted than proud.

"I never opened a bridge," he admitted. "I was still working on getting coordinates for one."

The words sunk in.

Smokescreen's doorwings dropped. Bulkhead brought his weapons back online. Bumblebee's optics whirred before they narrowed thoughtfully.

"Uh. Ratch." The wrecker looked around the room nervously. "What's that mean?"

They all knew what it meant; the question was little more than rhetorical.

Someone else had opened that groundbridge.

With a shuffle, Ultra Magnus stepped closer. The rifle in his good servo was held overtightly.

"There is something you need to be aware of," the lieutenant commander said to Bumblebee.

* * *

Soundwave awoke the moment Laserbeak ended his stasis. There were medical codes- overrides, meant to keep him in stasis- that kept his mind from going completely alert. They were the common medic's codes and that meant he was familiar with their build and weaknesses. He disabled them swiftly and felt his processor return to full strength.

For now, he would not move. Not until he learned why Laserbeak had awoken him.

She sent him a single noise. It repeated again and again; a dull pinging, familiar, impossible.

It was Lord Megatron's energon signal.

But he had seen him die.

But he had survived other fatal wounds.

But-

Soundwave didn't have time to question the good luck.

A cybertronian was approaching. Soundwave was unmoving still, even if his stasis had ended. Perhaps that would confuse the medic into thinking nothing had changed. Perhaps not. It would hardly matter if he would have to leave this room through force.

Ratchet did not pay him any notice. He was moving from shelf to shelf, tinkering with certain tools he found there. It was a well stocked medbay. Judging by what he had seen of the autobot base when he had gone to retrieve this medic, it had not been as well stocked.

Laserbeak sent a wordless query for directions. Soundwave considered for them both.

The impossible life signal was getting nearer to Cybertron. It seemed to be heading in Kaon's direction. A quick guess based on current trajectory (and shockingly impossible speeds) led to a few likely targets. Another guess based in Lord Megatron's own historical choices led to Darkmount.

If he was going to the former capital, then Soundwave would as well. He would wait and greet his leader: fully ready and operational to follow any orders. Just as he always was and always would be.

Should those orders be to wage a war on this no-doubt reborn planet?

So be it. Soundwave had a life-duty to fulfill. He had nothing else.

Decision made, the mech slid from the berth. It gained the quick attention of both the autobot medic and the vehicon officer who had been planted on the opposite side of the room away from Ratchet.

"Soundwave?" the autobot's mouth was opened in shock, but he still moved forward; the only tool in his servo was whatever medical item he had been tinkering with most recently. Soundwave looked down at him wordlessly. The short medic did not seem to care.

"Get back o-"

The silent decepticon grabbed the arm jabbing towards him and tugged the autobot forward. As he went by, Soundwave slammed his unpooling datacable into the medic's back and sent him to the floor cold.

The only other occupant in the room was staring at him silently. Then he had turned and sprinted from the medbay. Soundwave did not care.

After properly locking the medbay shut to buy time, he remotely groundbridge from the autobot-controlled warship. It would need to be taken again, no doubt; Lord Megatron was most likely to desire that. That could wait for the official order, however. For the moment, he needed to meet with the warlord and explain the current situation.

He bridged to the top of Darkmount to best scan the skies. To his surprise, he heard voices from the top floor below the spiny roof. Who? Vocal recognition answered with autobots. That changed things. Soundwave slipped downwards and observed them. There were three. The scout, the larger wrecker, the smaller elite guardsmech. They hadn't noticed him. It seemed they were busy with their tasks. The scout was skimming through the main computers and had not looked around the room. The wrecker was looking around, but did not pause on each spot long enough to truly notice anything in the shadows. The elite guardsmech was wiggling his limbs atop the throne.

Likelihood of threats? Low. Soundwave stared at the beings who had defeated his master blankly. Very low.

Then Lord Megatron had appeared.

And yet, he had not.

His energy signal dropped at those impossible speeds and correlated with the landing of a large mech. But it was the wrong body. There were corroded spines that carried none of Kaon's traditional style. There was an elongated face. There was added height and bulk.

When it spoke, it spoke with the correct voice.

But the words were all wrong.

_Megatron cannot answer you-_

The autobots had reared back in shock before the fight began. Soundwave had as well, however minutely.

The voice was right.

The mind was not.

It declared himself Unicron. While Lord Megatron had amused himself with thoughts of playing herald, he would never introduce himself as anyone but himself. He was very proud of who he was, after all.

This was _**not right. **_ What else was he to call it? He could not compute. Laserbeak was as stalled as he was.

_Megatron cannot answer you at this moment-_

_Megatron cannot answer-_

The original dark energon plan had been faulty for this very reason. Soundwave had not spoken on it but he had worried in his silence.

Lord Megatron had no master. Dark energon made only slaves. It was a paradox.

He remembered the failure at the cycle of alignment. Lord Megatron had spoken on it with him in private. Many times, he was spoken to that way. They gave off a sense of normalcy, if he were to be honest; they reminded him of cycles long past.

_I gave myself as his herald and he was blind to that value. It is little wonder that humanity is as foolish as they are; they are byproducts of Unicron's own stupidity. _

In truth, humans did not seem to share a collective mind or trait. Some were fools. Others were capable hackers. Others still had managed to gut decepticons and use them as their own weapons.

Soundwave didn't care to argue for their sake.

_He saw me as nothing. He never considered me a threat enough that I would ever turn against him and ally with a Prime. But now? _

Growl turned to laughter.

_Now time can continue to forget his old presence. He can rot for all the universe cares. The age of Primus and Unicron is over. _

Ireparibly so.

Was that an improvement? It didn't matter to Soundwave. He was here to support Lord Megatron and nothing else. There was no need for hypothesizing or philosphy.

It seemed from those conversations that Lord Megatron held no lost love for the chaos god. So what would he wish Soundwave to do? Follow his form, said to be given a lease on life by Unicron and therefore implying that its original owner did live on, despite Unicron's apparently holding the reigns? Attack the god that Lord Megatron held such distaste for, despite the damage it would do to his leader's body?

_What was he meant to do?_

For too long, he stalled. His leader did not answer silent questions. Even if they had been verbalized, he could not have.

_Megatron cannot answer you-_

It was up to him to make a calculated guess as to what that unheard answer might be.

Soundwave did not want to guess.

He had wanted Lord Megatron back however impossible a wish that had been.

This was not the miracle he'd scarcely entertained considering.

_There's an irony to it, Soundwave, _Lord Megatron had started up again after a break in their one-sided conversation. _My war killed Primus and now I have defeated Primus's old enemy. The past is over. All those ages of weakened gods and governments will never recover again._

It had always been his goal to rewrite that past.

It would not have been his desire to be written into history as the voiceless slave of an old god.

Soundwave would do him the courtesy of wiping that clean from legends. He would allow his leader to go down in history as the independent warlord he had wished himself to be.

The decision took far too long to conclude. He was not operating at his typical efficiency. He was...

The spymaster flickered after the body of his master while he chased the autobots to the smelting pit.

He-

Communications channels were open all around. There was an emergency in this situation that carried over their frantic voices.

Internal cameras of the _Nemesis _opened over one field of vision while Soundwave continued to watch the one-sided battle before him. The autobot medic had recovered from his earlier stasis. He was driving from the medbay to the groundbridge control room. Soundwave calculated the time it would take to reach the controls, triangulate coordinates, and open a bridge.

In front of him, the creature in the body of his leader snarled out some threat to the autobots.

It would be so easy to stand aside and let it kill Lord Megatron's long-time enemies.

Lord Megatron would want those kills himself. He was possessive of murder in that way. It would disgust him had it been any other mech.

Soundwave slipped closer undetected. It seemed those efforts he took to dampen his signals still worked against a literal god. Perhaps Unicron was limited to those senses owned by the body he wore.

A weakness.

One to exploit.

Two of the autobots were in danger of falling to the smelting pit below. Soundwave would have questioned the il-likelihood of that pit still burning, but he did not have the energy to bother. He would leave such complaints to those, like Shockwave, more suited to the task.

Unicron tossed the autobot scout away in favor of breaking the platform the green wrecker was using to hold the elite guardsmech in the air. It collapsed and sent both yelling as they dropped.

The cameras on the _Nemesis _showed the autobot medic still working on finding coordinates.

So Soundwave opened a groundbridge beneath both and watched them disappear. He returned to watching the body of his master face off against the autobot scout. Bumblebee had backpedalled to the edge of the deck and looked down towards the smelting pit he'd thought his allies had perished in; panic morphed into something far more calculating once he had seen the green awaiting rather than the molten metals.

"Servant of the Prime," the creature strode forward dangerously. _He spoke with Lord Megatron's voice._

How could Soundwave consider to go against that voice?

How could Unicron dare wear and play with it?

"You will now join you brethren!"

The autobot scout had turned back to his opponent with a cocky smile.

"You got that right," he replied and let himself fall backwards off that edge.

What needless dramatics.

Soundwave closed the bridge after the last autobot had disappeared.

Now it was but him alone with the body and voice of his master and the mind of a being that had infuriated Lord Megatron so.

* * *

"Soundwave came online," Ratchet explained bluntly.

That got a reaction. When Bumblebee had managed to tell the others to be quiet, he prompted the medic for more.

"He came out of stasis on his own. I was out right after that. By the time I'd come around, he was gone."

Which meant...

The autobots looked around the groundbridge control room nervously as if expecting to see the decepticon just waiting to strike at them all. Unsurprisingly, it didn't happen.

"Alright," Bumblebee started up after a moment. "Alright. We need to warn Arcee's team and Optimus."

Taking charge was natural. Even with a high ranking commander present, it seemed to fall to Bumblebee to speak first.

"What next?" Bulkhead asked nervously.

What next? A good question indeed. Honestly, Bumblebee didn't know.

"We'll need to figure out what Me- what Unicron's plan is," he said.

* * *

They'd been driving for a little more than a jour.

Neither he nor his partner really were much help in the 'tracking' part of this mission, but Arcee seemed to have that covered. So Knock Out determined to be the entertainment for the long drive and had been talking with both for nearly the whole drive. Arcee would answer his prompts or comment on his words with amusement occasionally, although her focus was seeing the tank tracks in the dust and following them.

They found their way to the ruins of an old amusement park. By now, the main star's light was gone on this part of the planet. In this park's heyday, it would have been all lit up during this darkness. Now, it was just impressive that its big Wheel was still standing and some of the booster rails hadn't fallen over.

It certainly seemed drab compared to the parks of Velocitron, but what else was to be expected from a place so much less streamlined and attractive?

The trio transformed in the silent ruins. Arcee was looking at the ground carefully while she moved. Breakdown was frowning.

"You think this is it?" he muttered.

It was probably better to use comms on a stealth mission.

He and Breakdown had never really done much stealth before though.

They crept on. Knock Out was reminded of human media. They certainly had a variety of thoughts on amusement parks and circuses and the like. They'd probably have a great time coming up with all sorts of reasons this abandoned place should be avoided. Humans were rather fun in their creativity for horrors. It was almost ironic, considering whose body the planet they were walking around on was built around.

"We got posted in a place like this once," Breakdown grinned at him. "Remember that?"

Erm, no. It must not have been very memorable.

"With the Stunticons?" he asked.

They'd been around in a few areas before Knock Out had decided to end their fun little team.

"Quiet," Arcee shut them both up. The partners shared a shrug and went back to just following her around obediently.

If it wasn't for the god of zombies showtime creeping closer, Knock Out probably would've relaxed enough to enjoy this little outing. The racers of the team were all quite fun, but this? these two were even better than any of the racers.

The idea of a bond was still something that made him a bit repulsed; but if he were to be official amicas with anyone, it should- it _would- _be these two. Scrap, it already was for one of them.

These happy thoughts were interrupted when Arcee found the end of the road.

It was a pretty well hidden door, really. Shockwave had done better than most would when it came to hiding in a junkyard.

"Weapons hot," the femme muttered while she worked at bypassing defenses through a terminal they'd found beneath some offcolored rubble. After a breem had passed like that, Breakdown had poked her shoulder. While she turned around to look at him, the blue mech crushed the terminal.

It was funny how many defenses seemed weak to brute force, Knock Out mused while the wall of an old funhouse slid apart.

"I can't believe that worked," Arcee muttered. Breakdown smirked.

That cocky confidence was always so attractive. But this really wasn't the time for them to stand around admiring his partner.

Despite all the effort they put into being ready for a fight, things were...rather disappointing.

There was a single growth tank that actually held fluid and a predacon. There was a small pile of bones in one corner of the room, a heap of rubble that may have been, just maybe, a nest of some kind, and overall a complete lack of decepticons.

"Scrap-" they said and slumped as one.

After marking the map with this onlined laboratory, the trio trudged out into the creepy ruins again.

"What now?" Knock Out asked, no longer bothering to keep his voice down.

Arcee narrowed her optics at the dust for a moment before she answered.

"We keep going."

Joy. Nothing like traveling around in the quiet following tank tracks to the most bland (and the most annoying, if they were together) mech(s) in existence.

Nothing more boring, that was.

Knock Out wondered if he was tempting fate thinking like that.

* * *

Conversation didn't come smoothly. Phoenix wished he had the easy extraversion of XL-3T09, but wishing did nothing to actually give that graceful manner to him.

Still, however slowly, they found words. They found comfort amidst the chaos around the world.

Dreadwing did not seem to know much of that chaos.

_Tell me what the situation is like outside, _he had asked. _Tell me how you have fared._

There was not much to tell, but his words were still more of a glimpse outside than the autobots doubtlessly offered.

But eventually, painting the picture of a reborn Cybertron drifted to that latter question.

_The- I mean, Breakdown- has offered to show me how to nurse, _Phoenix had admitted.

There were a few stilted questions on what that would entail. It was comfortable. It let him truly think about his answer and find what he believed he most wanted to do.

_I think I'll take him up on the offer, _the vehicon said and felt out that decision. It wasn't unappealing. _It's better him than the autobot medic._

The clause at the end did not go unnoticed.

_You feel unsafe around him specifically, _Dreadwing had noted cautiously. _Is he-_

The vehicon's free servo lifted to gesture stiffly at his faceplates.

_This_, he had answered. _It was him._

The seeker had looked aside to growl. It led to the servo on his tightening. The nervous worry that brought made him want to tug his own away, but he let it pass.

_Nothing rash_, Phoenix warned. _There is no going after any of the autobots. I don't want you to._

And, for whatever reason, Dreadwing acquiesced to his hopes and requests.

He wanted the chance to return the favor. After everything Dreadwing had done for the vehicons, he owed the seeker that much. But he did not know how. So he continued on unassumingly. He made no trouble in the medbay. He avoided the autobots when he could and remained quiet when he couldn't.

This cycle was one spent onshift in the medbay with the autobot medic. There was tension, as there always was. At least Ratchet no longer tried to 'teach' him anything or offer to repair his faceplate better than Knock Out's original work had. That job had shifted to Breakdown and the neutral was far more suited to the task, in Phoenix's opinion.

It seemed set up to be a shift much like any of the others during this peacetime.

And then it played out quite unexpectedly.

The moment the autobot medic had dropped, Phoenix had considered his options hastily.

He could stay here. Stay in the room where the former decepticon TIC was attacking people. And, what? Go up to the autobot and check him for injuries?

The idea wasn't exactly appealing.

Soundwave's faceless head looked at him next.

No. There was no facet of loyalty keeping him in here. Phoenix turned and ran. He didn't believe he would be chased, but he still wished he had an altmode for one's speed. It was not danger from Soundwave that made him wish it, but the time restraints the opportunity in front of him held that made him worry. Eventually, the autobot medic may wake up. Eventually, an alarm may sound out over the escaped prisoner. Eventually, someone may even come looking for him.

He wanted to be at the brig before that point.

There was no telling why Soundwave had come online.

He wanted to check on safety; he wanted to enact a stupid jailbreak; he wanted merely to wait whatever storm this was out while with one far more capable of fighting than he.

The vehicon changed course and made for the other quarters.

First reaction aside, he had brothers to check on before he let himself do anything stupid.


	98. Dead Mech Walking

_AN- Very first scene is a flash forward (of a few minutes). _

* * *

Whether he would acknowledge it aloud or not, Starscream _had_ been correct.

His altmode was slow. It was, at times, cumbersome.

He was only functioning now due to it. He was also responsible for the mess of autobots before him due to it.

A net benefits approach was taken on the subject.

Shockwave left the approach with a conclusion, however narrowly it had won out.

* * *

By the time Knock Out was finished telling the story of his grand graduation on Velocitron (which all three of them knew was a totally fabricated lie, but it was an entertaining story regardless), they had found far more concrete signs of Shockwave than mere tracks.

They'd found him.

Not that they showed themselves too quickly. Arcee would much rather find out what Shockwave was trying to do here than take him on now. And she wanted to confirm the theory that the scientist was, in fact, working with Starscream.

He had a lot to answer for and wouldn't get the chance to if nabbing Shockwave now alerted him to danger.

_«Keep engine noise to a minimum» _she ordered. It meant no accelerating and it meant waiting far, far back from the tank. Those were prices she was willing to pay. The landscape around here was too flat to hide well, so they needed to keep their distance.

_«Where do you think he's headed?» _Breakdown asked. _«His lab's back there and it had one of his predacons in it, so would he really leave for long?»_

_«If you're asking if we should have waited back there in an ambush, then you do have a point. But we need to find out what Shockwave is up and tailing him is a good way to do that» _she answered.

After a moment of thought, she tagged on: _«and with Shockwave, there's no telling if he _would _just leave the clone there. It's not like he gets very attached»_

The dead predacons in that lab Optimus had led them on a raid for was pretty good proof of that.

_«Believe me, I'm not defending him» _the blue mech growled over the comms. An understandable reaction, even if it did sound far more personal than whatever Arcee knew.

_«Merely trying to find our best option» _Knock Out added for him in a smooth purr. He tended to talk like he was trying to seduce someone. When it was directed at someone like Ultra Magnus or Optimus, Arcee couldn't tell if she found it offensive or amusing. It seemed paradoxical to say both, so she put it down to depending on her mood at the specific moment and moved on.

_«I'm no expert» _Arcee responded. _«But I'd like to find both him and Starscream together _while _they're in the middle of whatever little plan they've got going here»_

She'd _like _to do more than 'find' them. But she also knew better than to get carried away.

Whether or not she could hold that conviction after Starscream opened his mouth and started saying things he needed to regret was a different story.

Eventually, the purple speck in the distance folded into a slightly taller speck. Perfect.

There was enough of a slope nearby for them to drive down. They transformed when still a good distance away (transformation noises were rather telling, after all) and snuck forward as best they could. One of them was a pretty big mech and the other was shiny red. This was not an ideal matchup for looking inconspicuous. Arcee gave a tired smile to herself and kept on. They were peeking out over their last vestiges of slope- scouting a look at the two unknown predacons in the valley and the two decepticons standing together on the hill above it- when pure chaos unfolded.

The sound of an approaching aircraft came too fast to be possible. That aircraft shot down and transformed into someone _distinctly _Megatron-esque.

And after the purple lightning started, their original mission really stopped being nearly as important.

* * *

Starscream was insufferable.

He had no doubt done this all on purpose. A quick comm could have given him all the information he'd needed. No, Starscream had wanted this; he'd wanted to see Shockwave drive all the way out here when a call was more logical.

It was all part of his petty argument over the advantages of fragile flightforms.

Shockwave was not angry. He did not get angry.

"How was your journey?" Starscream asked him with a dripping tone.

He was not angry. Frustrated, yes. Very, very frustrated. But anything resembling anger would equate to giving this mech a victory.

"Long." Shockwave's tone was dark. Unfortunately, it led to the seeker's smile crawling wider.

It seemed he had equated this to a victory regardless.

Before Starscream could get started on talking about how slow the scientist's altmode was, he spoke again.

"Explain why you have summoned me to the middle of nowhere."

He had driven for far too many breems for it to be a waste.

That would make him _very _frustrated.

"Because," the seeker preened, obviously milking the moment. "-I have located our army."

He spread his arms out towards the gray valley and only now did Shockwave look closer at it. Darksteel and Skylynx were digging through mounds and mounds of predacon bones. Their former finds had been rare; they had come from what part of the former batch of clones had not yet deteriorated (all clones deteriorated faster than a forged, cyberbiological being. So long as their purpose had been for a temporary war, it had not mattered. Perhaps now that they were defenses for his labs, he would put real effort into finding ways to stave deterioration from their frames). These? These were far less deteriorated. These were quantities. These were _originals_.

They must have been unearthed through the shifting of plates during the autobot's revival of this world. Otherwise, this graveyard would have remained hidden deep within metals and dirts: far from those, like Shockwave, who had sought them.

The two clones below did not seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation. Shockwave could not help but calculate that the original would have been far more impressed by this scientific 'jackpot'.

"The clones sniffed out quite the motherlode, wouldn't you say?" Starscream had joined him at his side.

It was, however unappealing to admit so to this mech, true.

It still could have been commed in.

But to see it in its wonder was to see a scientific excitement in person.

"Quite," he admitted.

They went back to looking over the valley. Shockwave scanned and made to calculate roughly (based on what he could see here) how many predacon fossils were present. Starscream continued to preen proudly over his success. There was a confidence there that did not commonly present itself; it was not entirely meant to irritate him and so he could not entirely find the peacocking aggravatingly pointless.

"With this a- hey!" The shift to yelling dragged both the wrestling (over a large wing support, it seemed) clones attention over. "That bone could be your comrade someday!"

The two predacons blinked at the seeker with his crossed arms and angry expression.

"Now stop fooling around and return to the task at hand!" Starscream snapped. He glanced to the side- one brow cocking up alongside the side of his mouth while his optics rolled at the clones before- as if asking Shockwave to join him in companionable frustration over their guard's aptitude for cultural scuffling.

It earned, unsurprisingly, the same singular expression as anything else would.

Before the odd...camaraderie, others would call this? grew any worse, an interruption crashed to the ground behind them.

Both decepticons turned in alarm. One emotional; the other because a crash like that was unprecedented.

He hypothesized that it would be Predaking. While that was a confrontation he hardly found himself prepared for now, it would have been preferable to the reality before them.

It was unlikely.

But coincidental, he imagined. A frame time that size and style belonged to more mechs than just one.

Then the newcomer's mouth opened and his voice erased any of those more reasonable explanations.

"I do find it curious," the voice of a dead mech started with the same dangerous calm that Megatron had been well known for. "...that I am not the only one seeking the remains of mighty legions."

It was not possible.

The dead could only rise again through serious scientific effort. Even then, his own experiments tended to have results that were...lacking.

But Megatron had not had a scientist with him when he fell to the organic planet quite dead.

"It c-cannot be!" Starscream took a shocked step backwards towards the ledge they shared. A motion quite reasonable; one that he himself mirrored cautiously.

"It defies logic," he protested.

It was not possible.

Shockwave continued to think that even as Starscream recovered from their surprise first.

"Lord Megatron..." he waved at the hulking figure. "But-but how?"

They could agree on that question. Shockwave would also like to know the answer.

"Oh, what does it matter?" Starscream broke off his breathless tone of confusion to laugh. He'd stumbled forward further. Shockwave felt that was unwise. Something was wrong. Both of them should keep their distance.

Judging by the hike in the seeker's expressive wings, his compatriot did not feel the same. All cybertronians were readable; praxians, kaonites, vosians: their body language often let him glean more information than whatever hollow words they offered.

"Our master is back!" the seeker waved up at the expressionless dead mech standing.

It was meant to sound pleasing. It was meant to appease the warlord. It was, in most other circumstances, pure sycophantism coming from a decepticon that could care less about the meaning of his polished words. But as much as Starscream had mastered vocal praise, he had never been one to control his more non-vocal tells.

The wings were still perked upright.

The seeker was happy.

But Shockwave was far too wary of this entire setup to appreciate the safety that Megatron normally would bring to him.

"And looking far more imposing than ever!" Starscream continued his approval. "My liege, rest assured we have been working tirelessly in your absence to build an army powerful enough to conquer Cybertron-"

Finally, Megatron spoke again: a confirmation of red flags.

"I do not wish to conquer this world-" he snarled down at the seeker, who immediately retreated back to Shockwave. Megatron's purple optics flared up over both their shoulders to stare down at the predacon graveyard.

"I wish to _eradicate it!_"

That did not align with previous established behaviors and desires. Megatron had pushed for the creation of the second omega lock. He wanted this planet reborn so that he could rule it. It was long established to be his goal.

"Ye- um- apologies, lord Megatron, I-" Starscream glanced at the scientist in confusion. "-I can't say I'm following."

"Silence!" the warlord snapped.

While Megatron snapping at this mech was hardly new, Shockwave still found it concerning. As concerning as the rest of this.

"Your master-" the large mech sneered at the word "-is under _my _control."

Both decepticons stumbled away when the unknown variable strode forward. Standing in their place over the valley, Megatron's body lifted his servos in preparation. For what, he did not yet know.

"I am the destroyer of worlds-"

Purple optics gleamed over the dead rather than vying to offer the living any acknowledgement.

"The bringer of chaos-"

Then the one who could only have come from legends did give the slightest glance back before hungrily turning to all those corpses in front of it.

"And the lord of the undead."

It _was _hunger.

Not for either of them but for the legions of the deceased.

Those servos reached upwards and shot down to the ground below. Claws rent into metal; violent haze seeped through those gouges, through the ground. The surface cracked and shifted on this ledge and along the ground of the valley below. That same haze was pouring out of those crevices now. It rose and reached and fell over fossils with a very lifelike frenzy. The perpetrator had already lifted his servos from the ground and reached them high once more. The air was charged with energy, electricity. Under normal circumstances, this would be fascinating.

"Unicron..." Shockwave said aloud. The scene before him of death undone was his final confirmation.

The chaos god was yelling out to the creatures rising on decayed limbs. Starscream was flustering at his side.

"Terrorcons? Created from predacons?"

Their disgust was shared.

"It defies all science," he protested flatly. Starscream, it seemed, did not share appreciation for that special brand of horror.

"We're doomed!" the seeker screeched and folded into his altmode. The smaller decepticon had torn away into the sky only a moment later.

Whether it had been born of petty argument or not, he had always been correct in proclaiming his own speed over Shockwave's. Retreat was not an option for the scientist. He would never move away fast enough.

* * *

The first (and last) time he'd seen Unicron's zombie army, he'd been on the bridge of a crashing warship watching them smash against the _Nemesis_.

That had been rather terrifying. He wouldn't lie, he'd started regretting not going for Starscream's plan the moment the first terrorcon crashed near him.

Then the autobots had the bright idea to all go outside face to face with the monsters after the warship finished crashing and he'd gotten even closer to them. There weren't walls shielding him anymore. But the battle had gone by quickly enough for things to swing in their favor after only a bit of time spent in that fear.

This was the second time and he determined it was decidedly worse. There was a whole lot less protection, for one. There were even less teammates to help shield him, for another.

In other words, there was every reason to call a quick retreat and get the frag out of there.

Arcee was too much of an autobot to do that.

As soon as the army had started rising, she was leading them forward. Knock Out swallowed back the fear and followed as they crept on the lower side of this slope towards the valley.

Unicron had grabbed the horn of one of the first terrorcons to crawl up to the ledge and shoved his way onto its back. When he wasn't being faced down by that sight and the army behind it, Knock Out couldn't say the image held the same horrific impact.

Was it still bad?

All of this was. Luckily, the army wasn't actually all that interested in staying around. The ones lagging towards the back of the migration were taking the time to rip at a tipped-over Shockwave.

The ones lagging behind were all still way too many. And the army moved slow enough that their presence could still be noticed by a god that could decide to turn around and sic his zombies on them. Wasn't that just a lovely thought? Arcee interrupted further ones by bolting out into action. She always was a rash one. So was- ...yes, there Breakdown went too.

Guess that was that.

Knock Out extended his prod and ran after them.

Their first help went to one of the downed predacons. He couldn't really tell them apart under the terrorcons and didn't even really remember their names. Didn't matter, he supposed, but it would be nice to tell who it was they were shoving zombies off of.

The predacon didn't even seem to notice their help. After shoving up from the ground, he growled at the trio and then loped off towards the other one.

How rude.

"Can we finally call for backup?" Knock Out asked in the brief pause.

There really must've been some infernal being that controlled timing for maximum dramatics, because the flare of a groundbridge tore to life in the wake of his question. It didn't open next to them; it opened near the front of the slowly migrating legion.

And it wasn't an autobot that was admitted from it.

The medic watched Soundwave looking up at where Megatron's body sat atop a predacon and felt the need to sigh.

Wasn't this _just_ **lovely**.


	99. Deus Ex Machinas

He had watched immobile for a long enough time. He'd trailed behind from Darkmount to this place. He'd seen the dead rise and the autobots attack and the body of Lord Megatron move onward from them.

Now, he mobilized.

Soundwave bridged from his distant observation post to the front of this unholy army.

He tilted his head upward to look at his old companion's distorted face. Unicron looked down, briefly revealing his own confusion even as his predacon mount stalled to a stop.

Laserbeak's empty dock ached. He had left her behind at their observation post. He could not allow her to take the brunt of an attack if an attack occurred.

"_-Megatron-_" came the voice of a vehicon.

The creature above him sneered. His arm lifted and mouth opened before he went still in pause. Was it distraction? Was there something internal to distract him?

The implication at Darkmount returned. Even if Lord Megatron could not _answer_, he may still _hear_. And to _hear_, one's mind must be alive.

Finally, Unicron shook off the distraction.

"Are you attempting to join me?" he spoke in a voice that did not belong to him.

Wrong. So wrong.

Soundwave reached for his words from a few breems before. He reached for them and repeated them and pleaded for confirmation or denial.

"_-Megatron cannot answer-_"

The arm finished lifting.

"No," Unicron growled. "He cannot."

The strike melted into the empty dock and sent him down under the once again trampling forward terrorcons.

If he were to die, it would be in Lord Megatron's name.

If he were to live, it would be to avenge it.

He planned to withstand death for the latter.

* * *

Ever since that first time in the cycle of eternity, Megatron had gone rather quiet. He stood in the giant's shadow and merely watched the world outside.

He said nothing while the predacon graveyard was reanimating. He said nothing while those reanimated dead fell upon Shockwave and Starscream fled away into the skies. He said nothing even as the flash of colorful autobots- the two traitors among them- ran into the fray behind his body.

But then a new flash of color distracted him from the uncomfortable dissonance of wanting those traitors to defeat his body even as he wanted them to pay for their treachery- the new flash was a groundbridge.

Someone stood opposing them.

His spark flickered as it would have in life.

Fear. It was fear, elicited by _who _he saw was outside.

How disgusting of him to feel.

"Pest," Unicron growled aloud for both his captive audience and the mech in front of him on the physical plane.

Soundwave was many things but a pest was not among them.

He was also not invincible. Despite his unquestionable battle prowess, he was still erring on the fragile side. Unicron's upgrades left their shared body far from weak.

"He is my lost loyal soldier," Megatron found himself saying.

The creature above looked down at him in uncaring spite.

"So you have tried to fool me with before."

But this time it was honest.

"He's my strongest decepticon," he tried.

Unicron growled.

"There is no need for strong decepticons when I have legions under my control," came the unimpressed reply.

Megatron kept himself from smiling. He had needed to distract the chaos god and he had brought the creature's attention from Soundwave outside to himself.

Even if his words went denied, the brief split in attention was still a minor victory enough- though only if his TIC used it.

Run, he thought. Go. Go go go.

Soundwave had not spoken vocally in vorns and yet he could still be heard.

Megatron had to hope his own unspoken words were heard as well.

The attempted distraction infuriated Unicron. He felt the ground beneath him dissipate before his mind dropped; he felt the beginning courses of energy trickling over this frame; he felt the need to take back all that he had just done before he tasted eternity again.

And then he was inside the hellish cycle again.

* * *

There was no reason to stick around.

Both not at the graveyard where his allies were no doubt being destroyed right now nor on this planet altogether.

It stung to think it. After all this time, after every effort- still, Cybertron would not be theirs, be his, be living. Unicron wanted it gone and Starscream had no illusions that anything would stop him from getting his goal.

Maybe in the past, Megatron could have stood a chance against the devourer. He and the autobot Prime had managed it together. But one half of that equation hadn't shown up at all yet and the other was currently being a tool for Unicron.

What a disgusting situation all around. He had spent time growing used to the idea of conquering- not without Megatron, but for his dead name- and control and victories and now he was back to nothing.

It was all Megatron's fault. If he'd just listened to Starscream orns ago when the seeker had told him not to stab that dark energon into his very spark chamber, they wouldn't be here now. If he'd just listened a thousand other times...

The _Nemesis_ was airborne. It hung suspended in the air in complete stillness. Starscream shot down to its underside in search for the escape pods- or rather, the openings their absence provided into the ship.

He transformed after speeding through one such gap and waited for alarms to begin. None did. The seeker smiled.

Perfect.

Now, where would his decepticons be? The autobots were (most likely; he couldn't exactly trust the two-wheeler to do so) too weak to execute any of the throngs left alive, which meant they would be in the brigs. Starscream headed through the corridors in that direction. The security was laughable. And by that, it was completely absent. Absolutely nothing stopped him from reaching the first of the brigs.

This door was shut. From the looks of it, the larger brigs weren't. That was strange, but hardly all that notable. The autobots could have put the survivors to work. Starscream would have.

The lock code hadn't been changed on the outside. He keyed the door open easily and slid in casually, making to lounge against the doorway.

"Greetings, fellow decepticons-"

Then he saw who was actually waiting for him. Oh, what _joy_. The only con in here was Dreadwing.

It didn't matter. The larger seeker was a good fighter. Blowhard, yes, but still likely strong enough to aide him in taking the bridge.

The blue mech had jerked up from where he had been languishing on a bench.

"Starscream?" his optics were wide.

His smile crawled wider.

"Of course," he drawled and waved impatiently. "Now get up. We have to act now."

Those widened optics drew narrow.

"Why would that be?" Dreadwing asked. His fists were spasming at his sides.

And wouldn't he just _love _the news Starscream was bringing. Oh yes; _remember your darling little master? You should see him now._

"Because we must take this ship by whatever means necessary," he said.

Oddly enough, it did not seem to garner a reaction.

For the love of-

"Look," Starscream snapped. "Unicron is on this very planet. He's raised an army of terrorcons from predacon remains. We don't stand a chance if we stick around."

His arms fell down from their previously crossed position in order to gesticulate sadly.

"It is with a heavy spark that I say that, but it is our only chance. The decepticons can live on elsewhere. We could rebuild Chaar or New Kaon or the like on some other planet and continue our glorious-"

Dreadwing cut him off.

"You do not understand who you are asking this of," he interrupted.

Starscream's mouth flapped before it shut and he spoke flatly.

"What."

The larger seeker straightened up overhead.

"I do not wish to see this war continued," Dreadwing growled. "I do not wish to rebuild the decepticon cause elsewhere. I served it for the sake of my master."

That much he'd already known. It was just one of the reasons the blue mech was so distasteful.

"Then don't think of it that way," Starscream argued. "Just help me take this ship so we can get the frag out of here. I do not intend to use this warship to continue our battle, but for quickly getting as far as possible from this doomed planet!"

Another step closer. He started to feel a trickling discomfort down his wingspan. There was something very threatening in this situation.

"Help you?" there was the briefest of sarcasm. "After what you did to my twin?"

Skyquake had been an idiot who got himself killed. Starscream had hardly been responsible for that.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" he replied shrilly. One pede had slipped back further into the hallway. "Unicron is out there wreaking havoc! If you don't want to help me, fine! I hope he kills you first!"

He made to spin on his heel and depart down that hall away from the ungrateful, borderline-threatening failure of a decepticon.

The servo on his shoulder stopped that.

"I have no intention of allowing the chaos bringer to harm this ship's inhabitants," Dreadwing said lowly while Starscream remained frozen under his grip. "But I have no intention of following the lead of the mech who desecrated my brother's grave with the very substance of Unicron."

Oh.

"You know about that, do you?" Starscream piped up nervously.

How unfortunate.

* * *

The first predacon had already torn all those off the second. They glanced back at the trio briefly before running to another heap of enemies (zombiecons, Miko would call them) and tearing them away from the injured looking decepticon scientist.

The tank transformed painfully until Shockwave was being helped up off the ground by the two clones. Arcee had to look away to shoot at a lunging terrorcon. Knock Out was working on keeping another one bay- it seemed electrocution from his staff hardly phased these things- until Breakdown went to assist him and smashed the thing.

She glanced to the front of the army. The glow of the groundbridge had already faded and the terrorcons were lumbering forward fast again. A good amount had broken off from the quickly departing army and were sprinting back towards them.

Wasn't that lovely.

"Can we finally retreat?" Knock Out screeched at her while the wave of dead predacons began to pour down over the ledge. They were snarling, plating barely hanging onto their skeletal frames, hollow purple optics full of hunger and nothing else.

Arcee made to contact the _Nemesis._

A different screech interrupted that plan. Her head shot up to look into the sky. The two predacon clones, standing around Shockwave in their beast modes, looked up as well. They had been crushing opponents with abandon, but now they seemed to flinch back.

There was another predacon in the air. It screeched again before tearing downwards.

Watching him tear through Unicron's puppets made Arcee very, very thankful that Predaking was on their team now. He'd been dangerous enough during those times that he'd been put up against them by the cons.

And this had already been a bad situation. There was no saying that the two new clones and the two decepticons still present (if Soundwave was still alive) wouldn't attack them when all these terrorcons were out of the way. The clones were wildcards and the cons were glitches. That sort of reaction to their help was pretty much expected.

But Bumblebee was pretty confident that Predaking was on their side. Now it was four against four and the favor seemed to lay with the autobots. Hopefully.

The last of the terrorcons was ripped in half by the original clone and both pieces were thrown aside carelessly. Predaking stomped towards the two other predacons and Shockwave. Arcee waved at the other two and they followed her in approaching the unfolding drama. Their goal had been to apprehend Shockwave and Starscream. Even if they could only get one of those, there was still some victory to be scraped up here.

"You-" Predaking was snarling. The two unknown clones shared a glance. The decepticon was barely even standing upright with the damage done all over him.

The largest of the predacons gesticulated wordlessly before clenching the servo doing so into a fist and looking away from them. He glanced out over the valley. Yellow optics landed on the autobots briefly before they looked on.

"I found this place," the predacon murmured. "I found it while I searched for you. It was the burial grounds. And that abomination stole it from my memories, my very mind."

So Predaking had already run into Unicron? That demanded explanation, though Arcee would allow it to wait.

"And now it is desecrated!" he spun on the other clones again. "Strip mined of all that remained of our ancestors!"

The grief there did not seem shared by the two new ones. One giggled.

"You shoulda been here at the start to see 'em rise and shine," the chuckling one said.

The amusement there did not seem shared by Predaking. It definitely wasn't shared by Arcee.

"Dark magic," he growled. "Perpetuated by the demon who lives in Megatron's skin."

And didn't that have to be explained? It also needed to be reported.

_«Ultra Magnus» _she commed her highest ranking officer. _«We've found Shockwave, but there's something more dangerous happening right now. Unicron is back»_

There was just the slightest of sighs on the other end. _«We know» _the commander said. _«Beta team found as much at Darkmount. Return to the warship when you are able. We must all discuss our plan of action»_

When she returned to the drama in front of them, Predaking was yelling at the younger clones.

"-not understand the scope of this tragedy?"

They looked to Shockwave before glancing back at him.

"This is why you hid," Predaking's yell fell to a murmur. "You bear our blood, but cannot comprehend the mighty race you ought to belong to."

"Or maybe we just didn't like _you_," one of the clones muttered to the side. He'd been grabbed and shaken after saying it. Shockwave watched dispassionately.

Arcee found the words very, very interesting. They revealed that this was not truly the first time Predaking was laying optics on these new clones.

"Care to share anything with us?" she spoke up for the first time, crossing her arms even as the larger predacon looked her way. For a moment, his optics darted as if looking for escape routes.

Not gonna happen.

"I...do not _care _to, no."

Hilarious. Arcee's frown tightened. She didn't have time for nonsense.

"Aw, were you friends with the autobots?" the more silent of the smaller clones spoke. "Did their weakness rub off on you?"

Oh, that does it-

Breakdown had grabbed her arm before she got the chance to give this kid a piece of her mind. It was probably for the best.

Predaking did not seem as restrained, even if his attention did flicker guiltily from one party to the next.

"It was not their decision," a different voice entered the conversation. Its flat monotone betrayed who it belonged to. The larger clone glared back at the dust covered decepticon.

"Starscream and I agreed jointly that it would be best to disconnect contact with you," Shockwave droned. "If you were to visit often, the risk of your visitation leading the autobots to us ran too high."

Arcee had to give Predaking credit: she really hadn't expected him capable of playing both factions.

Respectful credit given, she was still allowed to be mad over this all.

"You betray me again, Shockwave," Predaking spat. It seemed she wasn't the only one mad. "I was willing to allow your hand in the destruction of my brethren to slide, so long as you remained the only hope for my people's revival, but this..."

The anger had drifted away. He sounded disappointed. Grieving. It was enough to make her own frustration over the situation drift away as well.

She knew what it was like to grieve.

"You have reason to be angry," Shockwave spoke in a voice that seemed far from understanding of any emotional reactions like anger.

"But would it not be more logical to employ that mighty anger elsewhere at this time?"

_«Where are you?» _Ultra Magnus commed during this last sentence. Arcee turned her head to the side to concentrate better on the call.

_«I'm trying to recruit allies. Predaking is here. I figured we could use his help»_

_«Grab the others while you're at it» _Knock Out spoke over the commline limited to herself and Breakdown.

She glanced his way. The speedster shrugged.

_«All three predacons were pretty useful in keeping the Well safe last time» _he added.

Alright. Arcee composed herself and summoned her best diplomatic face.

"Unicron wants to kill this whole planet," she said. The other four looked at the autobots again. "The more of us that stand between the Well and him, the better odds we've got in keeping him away from that goal."

Predaking's mouth parted and shut again. He gave a stiff nod.

"Skylynx, Darksteel, with me," he waved at the others without looking their way. "We will keep the demon at bay."

They trudged over to his side wordlessly. Both refused to look up at him, favoring staring at the ground instead. She wondered if they were embarrassed or cowed by something he had said.

The group of defenders moved awkwardly to the top of the ledge overlooking the valley. Left in the dust trampled by terrorcons, their third wildcard was slowly moving. He didn't seem interesting in sparing any of them a glance. Arcee noted that his surveillance drone was perked on the ground near where Soundwave was attempting to push up to his pedes rather than sitting on his chest. A closer glance showed that chest was bent and distorted from some sort of attack.

The drone shifted. Its red slit optics landed on the group of seven and it chirped something to Soundwave. He didn't look back towards them. Not even as a groundbridge flared open in front of him and he tried to stumble into it.

"Wait!" Arcee yelled. The silent mech turned his head to acknowledge her.

At least this time he wasn't attacking.

"You saw who did all this?" she asked rhetorically, finding herself walking over to the spymaster even as Knock Out was flustering behind her.

He tilted his head to one side. It seemed to say _obviously_.

"Then don't just running off to take him on alone and don't go dropping into stasis again," the femme ordered. "Get us all to the warship. If there are enough of us, maybe we can hold off until Optimus gets back."

It seemed dangerous to admit that the Prime was gone.

It also hardly mattered anymore. Decepticons, autobots, predacons- who cared. They were all set to die if Unicron won.

Other than the worn shivering around the place of wounds, Soundwave was still. A part of her wondered if he'd do that stasis trick again just to spite her advice.

Instead, the groundbridge disappeared and another flared to life a moment later. He moved through it without giving so much as a hint as to where it led, but it stayed open even after his drone had hopped through too.

They took the chance that it led to the _Nemesis_ and followed.

* * *

When the ion storm entered their radius, Wheeljack had told him they needed to return to a safe distance.

But Optimus could see the Allspark.

He could see the future of life on Cybertron.

And he would not let it down again.

An ion storm would not slow him down when he was so close to his goal. Not when Knock Out had said that Unicron approached their planet.

He would push on- for the Allspark and for the team he'd left to the chaos bringer's danger.

* * *

Something was...wrong.

...

The spark split again. These next two had come as one: just as Rumble and Frenzy had. They had alerted him in convulsion. His spark demanded to lose this painful mass.

Their frames were hardly ideal, but the spark had accepted them.

One of them moved before the other. Her brother was still offlined, but she had shifted. A chirp rang out to signify that she had awoken first. Soundwave put a servo over the little flyer's wingspan.

_You will be called Laserbeak._

...

They docked and fed off what energy he offered.

It was not enough. It was expending his, expending it all.

Ravage was the first to split from the carrier's form. He padded to the corner and curled there in a place that could not retain warmth.

Soundwave wanted to call him back.

But he felt a fraction of alleviation on his frame's energy expenditures.

He scraped up the money for padding and a box after that. Ravage had understood before he had accepted it: he could not provide warmth for all their miniature frames if it came from his own spark's energy.

...

They'd both made the best of things since they'd onlined. They played around, wrestled, teased, pranked. They stole and held to each other and put on shows for those who walked by on the streets that would care to tip two minicons.

They were the brightest of them all.

And then one cycle Rumble had not come out from stasis. Frenzy had poked him. Had asked him to wake up. Had denied how serious things were until that denial could no longer serve as a defence and he had shattered by the corpse.

Soundwave felt his spark flickering. Fading.

He'd tried to energize it. He'd tried to keep that spark aflame.

Frenzy pleaded for him to stop.

"I can't do it, boss," his voice broke. "I can't- I won't- I can't be asked to live without him."

Soundwave pulsed his affection for the symbiote. The affection of his siblings. He tried to show him how many others understood the pain and still wished him to survive.

They were made of fractions. Pieces to a larger whole. A whole that continuously lost those pieces.

Frenzy had gone offline by the end of that cycle and left Soundwave a little less whole.

...

In hindsight, Laserbeak's survival surprised him. Buzzsaw had been the first to die. She had flickered at the side of her split-spark's body, but had not faded. Day by day, her spark strengthened until it no longer relied on his energy to burn.

After watching Rumble and Frenzy fade together, Soundwave grew impressed that Laserbeak had lived past her own twin's death. The pleas Frenzy had continuously repeated through his attempts to keep the minicon alive never left his memory. They haunted him. They resonated too much.

If all of his symbiotes were to die, Soundwave knew he would as well.

One hung on, though. One hung on for so, so long. Long enough to see her carrier find another that gave him drive to press on.

Megatronus of Kaon. A gladiator. They met in the pits, took energon together. He had introduced the intimidating mech to his two living symbiotes and watched the way the silver fighter had stroked their heads gently while he laughed with Soundwave.

That spark faded. The war came and dragged on and no one truly burned the same anymore.

Then Megatron had died.

_I can't do it, _Frenzy's voice ghosted him.

Soundwave watched life leave the former gladiator.

_I can't do it_

_I can't be asked to live without him_

Frenzy and Rumble had died together just as they lived together.

Buzzsaw had died alone and Laserbeak had refused to follow.

She lived still.

She did not speak, but she asked for his decision.

Was he to be as the minicon twins or to be as her?

Soundwave wished he knew.

He knew how much he missed those ghosts that still haunted the mind around him; their phantom fractions to his spark still pulsing with imagined life at times.

...

He heard her crying for his decision to be made. He heard it even through the agony covering every portion of his body.

And, instead of laying still to die there, Soundwave pushed at the ground beneath him rather than succumbing to the easy call of phantoms.


	100. Rise Up, Roll Out

The ion storm raced for them. Sensors burned in warning. The _Iron Will _strained. Optimus did not allow them to slow down in the least.

Taking a ship into the system had been dangerous, but neither of them could fly without it. There had been no better choice.

So Wheeljack had weaved through rocks towards the Allspark even after the ion storm first entered their radius.

When they hovered over it, the wrecker lowered the gangplank and Optimus had dropped into the weightlessness of space. He shoved from the ship and waited in that trajectory until he reached the canister itself. Then he wrapped it in his arms, unheeding of the bright danger folding its way towards them.

_«Now!» _Wheeljack's voice snapped at him. The _Iron Will _dropped near him and Optimus grabbed its gangplank with one servo. While he pulled himself and his valuable prize in, the wrecker sent them flying from the spot.

They raced against the storm and came out the victors. Even with the damages done, they had succeeded. Optimus felt the hum of the Allspark as he held it against his chest. It pulsed with life, returned and unborn both. This was the future of Cybertron.

This was the past of the Primes.

He allowed himself a moment of peace amidst the hum of life rather than mourning the latter fact.

Wheeljack slid out of the pilot's seat once they'd set course for Cybertron. He walked near where Optimus was seated on the ground and looked at the reliquary of the Allspark.

"That's the future of life on Cybertron, huh?" Wheeljack frowned in thought; a common expression for him. "I kind of figured it'd be bigger."

The Prime moved from his seated position into a kneel of sorts.

"We must hurry back. There is much need for us."

Unsurprisingly, the wrecker seemed suspicious or confused.

"'course we are. But..."

"Give me a moment of privacy," Optimus changed subjects. "I must protect the Allspark before we return."

Instead of leaving as asked, the small mech crouched by him.

"What are you goin' on about?" he asked in concern. "You've got it in its fancy protection right now. What-"

He rubbed a servo down scarred faceplates.

"Why are you actin' so official? We just won, so why're you actin' like we're all about to die? Like you are?"

In the past, Wheeljack would hardly care what happened to him. Optimus let himself smile softly.

"Wheeljack. You must understand; I will not be Optimus Prime much longer."

The forge had allowed him to build a secondary reliquary. While the Matrix of Leadership would have taken in the Allspark as it was (as it had in Knock Out's home dimension), it would come at the expense of his spark. Or it would have in its original form.

He had ended the era of Primes the moment he used the forge on the Matrix.

But his spark would- in a sense, at the least- survive a union between the Allspark and the Matrix now that it was equipped as a reliquary.

"The scrap are you talkin' about?" Wheeljack snapped. "What reason do you have for talkin' like that?"

Primus believed in timing.

So it was that Ratchet's emergency message came across raspy comms and declared Unicron's attack on Cybertron.

* * *

There was something incredibly uncomfortable about the news Ratchet brought them. They were all rather glad to be alive rather than melted, but the details of their rescue hardly let any of them feel all that safe.

If Soundwave had bothered to break out and then inexplicably bridge them out of danger, where was he now?

For that matter, where was Unicron?

Ratchet recommended using the ship's computers to track for Megatron's life signal; if just one flicker of a spark remained in that body, the warship's trackers could find it.

Bumblebee recommended calling Optimus.

The former went ahead and began with his search. The latter tried to contact the _Iron Will _and received only static in return.

"A receiver and a transmitter aren't interconnected," Ratchet paused in his own work to approach Bumblebee. "Just because you can't get an answer back doesn't mean there's no chance Optimus can hear us."

He leaned over the communications station.

"Optimus. If you can hear us, we have a situation update. Unicron has left Earth and is on Cybertron."

It felt even more final after their medic had said it aloud. Bulkhead shifted where he stood nervously. Ultra Magnus still had not relaxed from his vigil.

The sound of a ping brought all their attention back over to Ratchet's original station.

"Megatron's life signal..." the medic breathed out. The purple icon on the screen left no questioning.

"So somewhere in that body armor, he's still alive?" Bulkhead asked.

Ratchet grimaced.

"He's perished and returned before," he said in distaste. "A phenomenon no doubt aided by the blood of Unicron, which has coursed through his veins."

It wasn't fair- but a medic was always exposed to evidence of that simple statement.

Still, he had sworn he would not see Megatron outlive Optimus and all these resurrections made that promise seem impossible.

"That is not Darkmount," Magnus pointed out. It brought the medic's attention back to the screen. He moved to triangulate it and the results were far from reassuring.

"Arcee and the others are near there," Ratchet frowned.

Suddenly, a mass of signals joined the first. They pulsed and multiplied. A sea of purple icons flooded the screen.

"What in Alpha Trion's beard is that?" Smokescreen looked on wide-optic'd.

There was only one likely explanation.

"Given that we are dealing with Unicron himself?" the medic turned towards the others. "The energy mass can only be one thing: dark energon."

Perhaps the location was the site of a large battle. Or perhaps it was a graveyard of sorts. Whatever the case, it was full of something that dark energon could reanimate.

And that meant nothing good.

"Unicron's got to be raising an undead army," Bumblebee said Ratchet's own thoughts aloud.

The mass pulsed and spread larger still before it began to shift across the map.

"One currently travelling across the Hydrax Plateau towards..."

The Well of Allsparks.

There was panic after that. Bumblebee wanted to put Ratchet on the ground rather than let him risk his life again. The suggestion had been denied. Magnus wanted to pursue leads on their unaccounted-for medic and the missing decepticon TIC. The commander always did get rather caught up in the feasible rather than allowing himself to concentrate on something as impossible as Unicron.

He did turn to the others not long after; the _Nemesis _was flying low towards the Well in the hopes of reaching it before Unicron did.

"I have received word from Arcee," Magnus told the rest. "Her team is alive. They will require a groundbridge after she completes...'recruiting allies' outside of standard procedure."

Now wasn't really the time to complain about rushing processes.

"Good for her," Ratchet muttered as he stood on the ready to move to the groundbridge control room.

Bumblebee seemed happier at the prospect of securing allies.

"We'll need all the help we can get before Optimus gets back," he said.

There was a beat of silence.

"...all the help?" Bulkhead repeated back to him.

The slow delivery seemed to put the former scout onto a cautious defensive.

"As much as we can," he answered him slowly. "I mean, I don't know how much help we'd need to beat a god but-"

Bulkhead exchanged a glance with Smokescreen.

"It's just that I bet some of the fellas I've got at the construction zone would be willing to help," the wrecker continued.

Ratchet shook his head.

"No." The team looked his way, so he elaborated. "We are not letting a bunch of decepticons free to outnumber us while Optimus is gone."

Even as he said it, Magnus leaned aside to take a comm. He opened his mouth.

"I...Arcee says that-"

The groundbridge tore into being on the top platform of the bridge where they were all working (or lounging around, in Bulkhead and Smokescreen's case). Ratchet felt his arms transform to their weapons before his mind even caught up with the situation.

It was a decepticon. He was bleeding and limping and ignoring them all even as he walked to the end of the platform; two datacables uncoiled and connected to the terminal there. It was all far too close to Ratchet's own screen for comfort.

And Soundwave didn't bother to pause and explain what the frag he was doing here.

Then another shape came out of the still-open groundbridge. Or rather, many, many shapes did.

Arcee sprinted through. Knock Out and Breakdown were close behind her. That was relieving, but the two large mechs that tumbled through afterwards were not. Then came a giant of a mech, who snapped his fingers at the two unknowns and both fell quiet. Predaking. A very dirty Shockwave followed after.

Ratchet wanted to sigh.

Apparently, Arcee had been successful in her 'recruitment' mission.

* * *

It took every effort to resist from throttling the other.

He had been told to hold back for Megatron's sake before and now Megatron was dead. Primus had delivered the desecrator of his brother's resting place and corpse to him and what consequences should now keep him resisting?

It was a pity he did not have his weapons.

"I do indeed," he snarled at Starscream's rhetorical question. "And now I can offer Skyquake justice."

Still, he had not moved for the kill. Even now, there was a sense of danger to disposing of the other; he just did not know what.

"Wait- wait! Wait!" the smaller seeker backpedaled into the side of the hallway. "You can't kill me, I'm-..."

-Grasping for lies?

No doubt.

"The autobots want me alive!" Starscream ended up going with.

Dreadwing growled down at him.

"You will say anything to prevent your own death," he spat.

And it seemed his former master had always agreed with any of those excuses.

"Well, some of us have working self-preservation codes," the other muttered before he saw Dreadwing lift an arm. "No, wait, forget I said that! I didn't mean anything, I- uh- I-"

"Enough!" the blue seeker grabbed the other and felt him wilt.

But perhaps...

Perhaps they did. If there was any chance that the autobots wanted Starscream to live, killing him could endanger his own standing as their prisoner. Phoenix would not wish him to endanger himself- that much was clear.

Dreadwing drew in air from overworking vents. His frame was running too hot. He must cool down, in frame and mind and spark.

"You say the autobots wish for you alive?" he spoke in a strained calm.

Starscream went still from frantic struggles and looked at him with judgement and desperation both.

"Er, yes. I'm sure I recall that clause from our deal."

Then it was a deal that neither autobot commanders had discussed with him.

Or it was a lie.

The likelihood of the latter was far greater than the former.

"Then we shall have to defer to them," Dreadwing tugged the other from the wall and shoved him in front. "And you may share your story on the Unmaker to them as well." One servo held both skinny arms together so those talons could not reach him; the other pressed against Starscream's neck and pushed.

While the smaller seeker blustered and spewed questions, Dreadwing resisted the need to merely tighten his servos closed. He was not endangering himself this way. He could even garner favor with the Prime by handing over the dangerous decepticon (alive, as well- the Prime was weak sparked towards acts he perceived as mercies).

Even as he wondered over what this action could give him in his attempts to bargain better lives for the vehicons, one stood in his path. Dreadwing pulled up short. The vehicon did as well.

"Dreadwing?" Phoenix asked. "But I thought- I was coming to get you out- what's he doing here?"

The choppy words were almost endearing.

"I am taking him to the warship's bridge," he said stiffly. "It may be that we are all in danger."

Phoenix's fist twitched at his side.

"XL-3T09 said the same. He's safe-" the vehicon added quickly and, for that, the decepticon commander felt relief. "But Soundwave broke out and now _he's_ here and all the doors to the vehicon quarters locked on the inside and-"

And that added evidence to the possibility of an emergency.

"Of course they have!" Starscream snapped from where he was being held. "The autobots don't want you lot interfering while they go do something stupid like- like- taking on Unicron in this ship!"

Phoenix looked from the smaller seeker to the larger one.

"I wanted to break you out," he said.

There was a silence.

"What then?" Dreadwing said in reply. "You were given a chance to grow as a medic here."

That elicited a silence as well.

"Do you want to be armed before you go confront the autobots?" Phoenix asked after that moment.

"It would be ideal."

Although it would increase his own temptation to run Starscream through with his blade.

"I kept your weapons," the vehicon told him. "They're in my room."

Dreadwing inclined his head.

"Meet me on the way or on the bridge, then, unless you see there is danger upon arriving."

Held immobile, Starscream muttered something insulting to them both.

* * *

Ratchet twitched while the con interfaced with the controls regardless of the autobots around them. Apparently, no one was going to comment on that. Apparently, no one was going to approach the fact that Soundwave had broken out of his medbay and then returned to steal his console here.

That left him to do it.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped first. The con inclined his visor ever slight to the medic. There were cracks spider webbing the dusty screen, but none were wide enough to see whatever mystery lay beneath.

Soundwave bent one long arm and unfolded a digit to point at the terminal before him.

Yes, yes, it was a map. How nice. Maybe he could elaborate on the significance and _then _Ratchet would accept the fact that a decepticon had effectively shoved him out of the way to take his job.

The ship moved. The tilt was only just noticeable to those on board, but it was enough to send the two strangers tumbling into each other and then off of the platform to the lower portion of the bridge below. Predaking snapped something down at them.

"Why are you moving the ship?" Ratchet jabbed his own finger towards the decepticon; it stopped short of ever reaching the mech that was littered with as many abrasions as Soundwave was.

The other turned around, even if his cables remained connected to the console doing...whatever it was they were doing. His visor lit up with the same map; this time with a set of lines drawn over the course Ratchet had put them on and the new one.

Alright, so it _was _faster.

Turning as he had to face the spymaster, Ratchet could better look at the crowd that was gathered here.

This was a shitshow.

The doors to the bridge opened. _Yet another decepticon _was tossed through that doorway to the purple floor. Dammit, they needed Optimus and Wheeljack back now, not- not- _Starscream_!

Or the other seeker standing with silent rage over the blustering air commander.

That rage seemed to stall at seeing all those before him. Dreadwing's mouth parted wordlessly. Another figure had appeared behind him, peering around Dreadwing's arm cautiously.

Those that had already gathered on the bridge peered back.

"Shockwave!" Starscream's optics landed on the scientist and he tried to scramble forward. Dreadwing stepped on a leg and brought the effort to a halt. It did not halt the screeching. "Praise the Allspark! You of all people have to see reason; we need to leave this doomed place behind now!"

The scientist gave no answer. Predaking started to speak out about a 'duty to destroy the demon'. The two smaller predacons were peering up at the proceedings from where they'd grabbed the platform and hoisted their heads to rest on it and occasionally giggled together disruptively. Bulkhead started speaking nervously. Knock Out was ranting about their need to get moving (without realizing that they were; Soundwave was piloting the _Nemesis _towards the Well without any heed for their arguments or chaos). Ultra Magnus looked like he wanted to crash. Dreadwing was trying to ask if 'Starscream's tale is true'.

In other words, it was chaos.

It was time for Magnus to shut this all down. It was time for Optimus to get back and find a feasible way for them to keep Unicron from the Well.

And it was time, at least to Bumblebee, for diplomacy to happen. He had stepped forward to stand separately from any of the groups bundled on the bridge.

"Settle down!" he ordered. The chaos did grow quieter. "Good," Bumblebee nodded. "Now, one at a time please. We need to figure out a way to stop the Well from being poisoned. We need to find a way to survive this battle and turn it in our favor. Any other needs and any suggestions can be stated in a reasonable manner or else we're wasting time here."

Ratchet smiled at him, even if the former scout didn't turn to see it.

"A logical suggestion," Shockwave spoke first with a slight incline of his head.

After that, complaints and worries and plans did trickle out in a more reasonable manner.

"How can we utilize this ship against the amassed army?" Magnus started.

"What weaknesses does Megatron's new body yield?" Predaking added next.

"And what are we supposed to call him, huh?" Smokescreen interjected. "Megacron? Unitron?"

The others stared at him. Soundwave's blank visor felt far more flat than usual. Then he'd turned back to the terminals in front of him for the first time since Ratchet had 'argued' with him. The rookie's doorwings dropped at the snub.

"What?" he protested.

Arcee just shook her head.

"Really?" she smirked through the comment, despite how serious this situation was. "_That's _your biggest issue right now?"

The rookie just wilted more.

"Come on," Bumblebee interrupted the moment. "Let's focus. We don't have much time before-"

Ratchet broke his focus when something touched him. He glanced down startled at the surveillance drone that had landed on his arm. That was _unexpected _ Ratchet hardly approved. But it served its purpose; he had glanced to his arm and, in doing so, looked at the surveillance officer that was one again facing him. A digit jabbed at the screen.

A moment later and it was Ratchet who was interjecting into the noise.

"We're out of time!" he brought everyone's attention.

There was a moment of panicked silence.

"Let my brothers and I out!" Predaking said. "We can control the crowds-"

"Activate the warship's weapons," Magnus spoke concurrently. "We should fire down while we have the advantage."

"I never agreed to sit here-" Starscream raved from the floor.

All in all, chaos again. They would have likely abided by the former two's suggestions, if they'd had the chance.

Unicron didn't want to give them that chance.

* * *

The undead could still fly, even with their wings as corroded as they were. They took to the air and rammed against the ship. The cybertronians on the bridge stumbled; machinery rattled and frames did as well; the vid screen shook and showed terrorcon after terrorcon flying against it- the allies fell against the ground or each other or terminals nearby.

Finally, the _Nemesis _ceased to shake so turbulently.

Only because it had come to a stop on the ground. The warship had crashed before the Well. Its flickering vidscreen showed the undead hordes continuing to approach.

This was it, then. This crashed ship and the cybertronians on board were the last shield Primus had.

"What now?" Breakdown asked.

Bumblebee looked over all those crammed on the bridge still.

Magnus: weapon and body ready in their stiff preparation.

Arcee: jaw clenched and determined.

Knock Out: gazing out the vidscreen at the undead army nervously.

Breakdown: gazing at his partner rather than the scene outside.

Bulkhead: maces already out.

Ratchet: grim but resolved.

Predaking: standing tall and nodding at him when he met the predacon's optics.

The other clones: managing not to prod or tease each other while the moment passed by.

Dreadwing: clenching his blade.

Starscream: nursing his jaw and glaring murderously at them all.

Shockwave: leaning against a terminal for support.

Soundwave: just as damaged but ignoring any discomfort while he remained attached to the main controls.

The medic vehicon: silently standing closely to Dreadwing.

An almost even split of autobots and decepticons. Four very capable neutrals.

No Optimus Prime.

They could really use his help and lead right about now.

Bumblebee shut his optics briefly and took it all in.

They'd do their best, with or without Optimus.

"This isn't lost yet."

He turned away from the temporary allies to look at the danger visible on their vidscreen.

"Auto-...well."

The former scout laughed at himself too quietly for anyone else to hear.

"We're the last line of defense between Unicron and the Well. Let's get outside and keep him from his target in whatever way we can. Got it?"

Bumblebee didn't bother to look back and see if they were nodding.

"Good. Let's rev up and roll out."

And among those who were mobilizing, Knock Out resisted the need to applaud this version of Bumblebee. His old Bumblebee had grown more confident during the Unicron fiasco and for a while afterwards; up until the world around him had started to pull it all away from him. This Bumblebee hadn't lost that sense of confidence.

As much as he'd always prefer Optimus, the medic couldn't deny that the former scout made for a good leader in the diplomatic sense. Pit, he'd managed to keep the three parties in this room from just attacking each other rather than focusing on Unicron.

Knock Out couldn't say it with a guarantee, but he felt pretty sure that Optimus would be proud of him right now.

And, of course, proud of Knock Out for being the instigator of all this madness.

And...

His face laxed into a smirk.

Why kid himself?

Optimus would probably be proud of all of them.

And wasn't that just a great reason to go outside and get uncomfortably close to a bunch of zombicons.


	101. Destroying His Destiny

His old enemy was near.

His weak life signal pulsed up through this planet. He had allowed his material form to grow dormant under this world and did not even bother to greet him with his energy form?

Pitiful.

The mortal rolled to the feasible ground when his punishment ended. Unicron barely bothered to look at how his energy form was smoking or heaving. The only reason he had for glancing at all was the satisfaction at seeing submission.

If Primus had learned to set pride aside and submit, perhaps his planet would not be dying today.

Unicron drew his mount up to a stop and lifted an arm for the rest of his legion to stall as well.

The time remaining for this pitiful planet was short enough. He was in little hurry.

But then those children of Primus returned to stand against him. Their dark ship hovered on the opposite side of the Well and faced him down.

"Resistance," he frowned.

What a disgraceful resistance it was. Primus truly had grown weak after these eons.

Megatron had heaved himself up to one knee and stared forward.

"From my own warship," the mortal muttered.

It received a flash of pain that sent him to a knee again- though it did not do further.

"You own no warship," Unicron denied. "You own nothing."

Bitter silence was his only reply. While he did not smile, his energy form still felt the crawl of satisfaction.

"Now-" he said in that plane, whilst moving his puppet to open its mouth. "-demon hordes-" the puppet shouted, the sound overlaying Unicron's own voice here. "Take flight and eviscerate them!"

The undead surged upwards to do his bidding.

* * *

The lightspeed engine hadn't been damaged in the ion storm. Even as the outer hull was peeling apart, the_ Iron Will_ shot towards Cybertron.

The Allspark thrummed in Optimus's chest. The multitude of sparks invited his own where it sat so close to them. He did not allow it to accept that embrace, for he knew it went one way only. To accept such an invitation meant to become one with the Allspark.

He could not do so yet.

The empty reliquary sat atop his legs while he sat in the passenger's seat once more. Wheeljack cast glances at the empty device and at him regularly. The wrecker did not say anything when he did so.

They sat in silence and hurried to a planet that lay in danger.

When the _Iron Will_ dropped from lightspeed, Optimus sat forward. The Allspark was frenetic. It recognized where they were. It felt Primus resting nearby and longed to join with him.

Soon, Optimus thought.

First, they needed to defeat Primus's old rival once and for all.

* * *

In the end, the only one who did not rush to battle was Starscream. The seeker had stayed seated on the floor of the bridge and proclaimed that he would not engage in suicide. Out of concern that he would attempt to hijack the (crashed) ship if they left him unsupervised, they'd dragged him out anyways (by the means of Arcee, who had one blaster trained on him). Once they'd all tumbled out to the ground beyond the safety of the warship's walls, Unicron's army appeared far more threatening. Those who were airborne remained there. The rest faced the small group of defenders from the surface.

There really wasn't enough of a distance between them.

Breakdown remembered the last time Unicron had been doing anything. That was the whole alignment day debacle. Megatron had disappeared without explanation while a whole lot of natural disasters ripped Earth up. Oh, and Airachnid had tried to stage a coup. He and Knock Out had watched that get shutdown in person. It was pretty hilarious, actually.

Back to the point, Megatron had shown up later with Optimus Prime and told everyone to pretend he wasn't in fact Optimus Prime lest their voice boxes pay the price. Apparently, Unicron had been taken care of. Or apparently not, considering that he was currently facing them all down.

Unicron-in-Megatron slid down from his undead predacon and lifted his arms.

"My legion!" he called loud enough for the cybertronians to hear.

Ugh. He even sounded like Megatron. Trippy.

"The time is upon us: destroy Primus with your dragon fire!"

Destroy Primus? Seemed like a pretty ambitious plan. That much didn't seem all that far off from what the real Megatron would be demanding, since the real one had been rather excited about destroying Unicron on Earth (which, apparently, was a failure).

"Skylynx, Darksteel!" Predaking spoke first. "Allow nothing to enter the Well!"

The three predacons twisted and convulsed outward to their giant forms before taking flight. Their own fire kept control over some of the masses above. Breakdown brought his shoulder cannon out and shot at those masses. All of the others did the same, even if it didn't really seem to be making much of a difference. One of the predacons ceased shooting fire when he was overwhelmed; then another and then the third.

Damn. This wasn't looking good. Why couldn't Unicron have just stayed on Earth where he belonged?

* * *

Living predacons burned through a portion of the undead army. Megatron recognized the one in the middle. It seemed Predaking had survived Unicron during their earlier scuffle.

Standing battle-ready on the ground, more enemies and even decepticons were waiting. Traitors. Enemies. His own killer.

Unicron was hissing at the trio of predacons in the air.

"More flying pests," he dismissed from above Megatron's head and a new wave of the dead swarmed up at the trio.

The three predacons continued to fight. If there were more than just Predaking, than it seemed likely Shockwave had renewed Project Predacon. Megatron had told him not to and yet he had. And now he was standing with the autobots as they shot mortal weapons at an army. He was not alone. Dreadwing was firing his turret into the fray. Starscream looked like he was panicking and Megatron considered all the many reasons he would have for that; the army's quantity, his own frailty against attacks. The seeker was not meant to fight on the ground; had it not been for his war, the seeker would not have been meant to fight at all. Soundwave- Soundwave was alive.

And the autobots were all there as well. From the two traitors to the old medic to the youngling who'd killed him: he knew he should want them all to suffer.

But then what? Unicron would win? Take Primus, destroy this world, and keep his spark and body forever?

There was another motivation there. It crept slowly, unwanted, shoved aside. He knew he wanted them to pay but he knew they would not deserve to; not from a standpoint outside his own selfish anger or hurt. Damn Unicron. Damn him.

"Whom to root for?" Megatron muttered aloud as he looked at the autobots he knew he should want dead. "The lines have certainly blurred."

The ground beneath him wavered. His musings dropped away while he reeled for balance and felt a spike of recognition. No no, he was dropping, he was- ...he was not gone yet.

Megatron twisted around to look at the god behind him in confusion.

"You certainly have not been wiped away of your insolence yet," Unicron said dispassionately when he finished turning. "Perhaps you should witness eternity rather than this battle."

But that would be-

that would be so _long_ inside those memories-

It was phrased as indecision, but the dissipating ground revealed the decision already made.

It made his own decision as well.

He glanced back to the autobots, narrowed in on the one who had stabbed through his spark chamber and sent him to this hell in the first place- the one he was meant to loathe and hate and crush for the audacity he'd had in trying and succeeding to kill the tyrant of the universe; to loathe in a manner greater still than his hatred for Optimus, as this scout had not adhered to their legendary struggle at all. There was something disgustingly inferior about having been killed by a scout. It spat on legend and circumstance. To be killed by that same random autobot soldier would carry double the shame. And yet-

"I hope he kills you," Megatron managed to say through the first waves of pain.

Unicron shoved him deep into the cycle for the insolence.

* * *

There was one single perk to this all.

And that was knowing who was coming any minute now. It let Knock Out relax a bit, even when things were looking as ugly as they were.

The only downside was one nagging thought: what if the _Iron Will_ had gotten more damaged this time? What if what if-?

Knock Out shoved the little doubts away because, quite frankly, they were too unpleasant to bother humoring.

"We're not going to lose our planet," Bumblebee said aloud as the others sank into a bit of despair. "Not without taking Unicron with it."

"Agreed." Ultra Magnus gripped his rifle tighter and set his jaw. "The enemy may have flown into the Well, but we can still give our lives to cut off its head."

Maybe it would even work to stop that army in the Well.

"Decepticons-" Dreadwing let his turret point downward so that he could face the few cons near him. "We shall do the same."

Great, so, after nine million years, everyone got to be in unity over a suicide mission. That was a lovely thought but also frag no. They didn't all need to die just to also drag the stupid troublemaking chaos god down. Not when-

Only a short distance away, Unicron had broken his look of glee to stare up flatly at the sky.

Frag yes. Knock Out knew what that meant.

"A familiar resonance of pure energy..." the immortal muttered aloud. "Not unlike Primus. One I have not encountered since ancient days..."

Yes yes yes, oh yes, it was as good as won now. The medic was grinning and drawing looks for it, but he could hardly care.

Then the cybertronian ship dropped from the sky and raced towards Unicron.

* * *

Wheeljack fired the main guns at the figure on the ground below. Optimus held on while the ship shook from effort. It was damaged already. The force of shooting its weapons seemed to be straining the _Iron Will f_urther.

They tried to stabilize but it was no use. Unicron was firing bolts of energy at them that seemed stronger than Megatron's former fusion cannon. They tore through the weakened hull and flickering shieldings.

"Bring us down," Optimus ordered when he saw the inevitable. Wheeljack clenched at the controls unhappily, but did so. A controlled descent would be preferable to crashing hard.

The moment the _Iron Will_ landed on the surface, Optimus had taken the reliquary and ran from the ship. He and this empty canister were Unicron's targets; Wheeljack and the ship were not.

There was a whine of torn air. Rusted and eroded silver flashed in front of him and slid into a mech's frame upon landing. A familiar- if distorted- face sneered at him in an unfamiliar manner.

"Thank you, Prime, for delivering the Allspark so that I can erase it," Megatron's voice said what no doubt were Unicron's words.

It would not have been said in anything but a taunt by the mech that body belonged to. Megatron desired the Allspark and Vector Sigma both to gain the power of a Prime and control all new life; never to erase it all.

If any fraction of him remained in that body, he would fight against this threat to his own maniacal desires.

"Not while I stand before you Unicron," Optimus shook his head. He kept the reliquary behind him, dropping it to the ground behind his legs; close enough that its energy signature in his chest could be attributed to the container, hidden enough that Unicron would not yet see it was empty.

The monster charged with a speed that should not have been possible for his bulk. Optimus threw a fist into his face whilst moving his own head to one side. The air still pushed from the missed blow and he knew to avoid all others; force like that could take his helm off his shoulders if it hit him head on.

"Megatron!" Optimus sent a knee into the godly avatar's middle and grabbed at the other's head to shove it into Unicron's own chest. "You and I once united to save a world from Unicron; we must do so again!"

He managed to bring another knee up while transforming one servo to a blaster and firing into the neck of his opponent. Then, his advantage was shaken away. Unicron roared in irritation and shoved him backwards.

"Megatron may hear you," he growled. "But he cannot help you! For he is enduring eternal suffering."

It did not matter. If he would not have aide from within the puppet, he would still fight. He would always fight. It was what a Prime was created for.

Optimus drew himself into a defensive stance. The reliquary remained on the ground behind his pedes. The others were racing towards the _Iron Will_ and the two legendary figures both.

He needed to finish this fight before they were caught in the crossfire here.

* * *

Over.

And over.

It moved and shifted and crushed down.

Over again. He had lost track of how many lifetimes had been repeated. He had almost lost track of himself.

The scout.

The archivist.

A hundred billion organic and techno-organic lives.

His greatest crafts, turned upon him.

Claws cut down through the thinnest portion of his wings and it stung, it burned, it hurt, but it was the betrayal, the confusion- where where where did it go wrong, why did it, frag this mech he'd kill him he'd pay, he could do better he swore he could-

Unicron broke through the illusion briefly.

-The foolish Prime is here- his voice hissed through the madness. -Listen to him plead for you-

And the request- far from a plea- was heard even as he still wore Starscream's skin and felt his body beaten.

It was a clever move on Unicron's part, he must admit.

It only served to reveal his utter helplessness. Then the presence left and he was swallowed up once more.

The start. The start again. The first mech, on the ground, watching _him_ overhead.

Again.

And again.

An eternity of looping until where he _stopped_ and the false memories _started_ ebbed away to nothing.

His nerves burned from the electrical fire outside on that first plane of being. His immaterial frame scorched with the stress of living a million deaths or abuses.

And still it went again.

The pede above slammed down. Shattered metal carved into his spark chamber. Fuel erupted out. The cannon above turned, flaring at its weakest, letting the heat catch that fuel-

How many times? And still it looped again.

The interrogation at Tyger Pax. The betrayals built from proxies. The deaths strewn over aliens and cybertronians alike.

The first mech, on the ground, watching _him_ overhead.

He keened and it had nothing to do with the warlord overhead stomping on his chest.

Primus, how long, how long had it been, how many more, Primus, Primus _Primus_-

The god around him let his mirth envelop his rebellious tool. The sick irony flashed by in the twenty-eight million cybertronian memories that had uttered that same incomprehensible, desperate plea while _he_ killed them. But they rested among the Allspark. He did not. Primus could not hear him because he'd shoved the blood of Unicron into his very spark chamber and believed himself too strong to let it claim him.

-do not worry- Unicron whispered. -their rest will be as empty. I will consume the Allspark, just as you invited me to consume your own-

He keened again and the cycle reset.

* * *

"Your efforts to protect Cybertron's most sacred relic are futile!" Unicron shouted. "My legion is within reach of Primus- your planet's very core! And we both know," the god's voice dropped in amusement. "-that the Allspark cannot thrive in a poisoned Well."

That may be the case, but Unicron's assured victory was not. Optimus would not step aside and let this galactic wanderer's poison reach the core of Primus.

Neither, it seemed, would the others.

A violet cannon blast hit Unicron in the shoulder. Rifle fire peppered his shields. A flyer shot near to lay down fire and another fire a missile from afar. The plasma shots of autobot blasters fired again and again.

None of them scratched the upgraded armor beneath the shields, but they still kept Unicron distracted.

"Go, Optimus!" one of his autobots- or perhaps more than one of them- yelled. "Save the Allspark!"

They did not know it was already protected.

But their combined attack also did not harm this new armor of Megatron's.

Optimus had tried to battle him the traditional way. Now it was time to battle through trickery.

He turned and grabbed the empty reliquary before taking off. On pede, he could hardly be considered fast. With the upgraded speed of Unicron, it was hardly possible to even imagine getting away through running.

He did not need to succeed in getting away.

Indeed, the sound of audial-splitting speed approached. The bait won out. The trap sprung.

Burning plasma fell over the shields of his back and knocked him to the ground. Optimus groaned and reflexively clutched the reliquary; that much was no act.

The ground rumbled under a step. Another step. Unicron approached with delighted slowness and gleeful certainty of victory. One servo- so much larger than Megatron's old one- grabbed his shoulder and tugged him to his back.

"And now..." Unicron smiled. The warlord's sharp dentae gleamed alongside those hungry purple optics. "I shall devour your Allspark whole!"

Optimus scrabbled at the ancient reliquary as it was tugged from his arms. The locking device shot open. Unicron's hunger gleamed down at-

Nothing.

"What?!" the god's head shot back to the fallen, but undefeated, Prime. "A trick?"

His disbelief did not stop the trick's reality.

The reliquary was meant to hold great energy. Its well reached out to find something, anything, and pulled at the nearest energy spike.

The anti-spark.

No matter how Unicron threw the device aside and tried to back away, it reached for him-

-until the chaos bringer was devoured and locked away.


	102. Transformations

The very core of their world was being poisoned.

Orion Pax did not wish to leave the others in order to make this journey. A part of him worried that his absence would be a tipping point; that he would return to find Megatron had seized total control of the fledgling militia and the world itself.

The very core of their world was poisoned and only a portion of that was due to the warfare above it.

Cybertron had been dying for eons.

Not long ago, he had believed the words of a revolutionary and dreamed of a regeneration for this dying world. Now, he acted on the words of someone who had meant to insult him by asking why there was no Prime present to save the collapsing society.

The council had offered the Matrix to him. Alpha Trion had told him to search for it and take on its mantle. Starscream had mocked him for avoiding it and therein making this world suffer in a Prime's absence.

Only then did he go.

He traveled into the Well itself. He saw the erosion and damage from the poisons pumped into the planet in the absence of all that energon taken from it. He saw hopelessness and refused to accept it.

Primus reached for the nobility of a lone archivist. As Orion turned from another set of steps downward, he saw the very spark of his planet- and the lifegiver of his people.

There also was Vector Sigma.

And there also was the golden mantle of the Primes.

The great Allspark and the core of Primus called for him in a language innate to all cybertronians. It carried no sound or word, but it was the Original tongue. Orion comprehended its beckoning even without noticing its soundlessness.

The Matrix hovered downward in its golden glory.

It wanted him.

He was to be a Prime.

The grand council, Alpha Trion, all of them...they had been right. Even still, he could not believe that he, of all those great speakers or leaders or tacticians on Cybertron, would be the best choice.

"Are you certain?" he murmured. The device whirred. It folded smaller and lost none of its mighty presence in doing so. The energy reaching off of it swelled and wrapped around his own energy field. It slid inward to test his spark and found it worthy.

In light of this, Orion Pax opened his spark chamber.

He remembered seeing the Matrix hover near until it had connected to his chamber.

He remembered watching the eye of Primus focus in on him and felt the approval there.

And then Orion felt himself washed and folded away-

His body burned as it expanded.

His spark swelled as it took on the weight of the Matrix.

His mind transformed through added knowledge, collective wisdom, and responsibilities chosen by Primus himself.

Orion Pax submerged under a newborn Optimus Prime.

* * *

Eternity dragged out.

His mind was pulled along over memory after memory. Unicron had stopped speaking. Unicron had been forgotten.

Everything had been.

Layer after layer had stacked over as his mind was dragged along agonizing experiences, feelings, beliefs. One memory became a million. A million became far more still. An exponential addition of layers and submersion hid reality. Hid time. Hid identity.

What created the form, the image, the concept, of Megatron shattered somewhere along that way. Pieces crashed apart, fluids spread over distances unreal, an empty spark chamber pulled into shattered bits. The plating fell alone, far from other plating remains, and alone they dissolved. They melted in until they were waste, dripping down, down, down, carving their path through the soil until they dripped free in a mine over the head of a single drone while he dug and dug and never noticed the shadow constantly dripping over his head.

Until there was at once a sickening silence.

The sudden absence of sharing minds made phantom tanks roil nauseously.

Except even that felt too real. He groaned and grabbed at his own gut._ It felt far too real._

There were noises around him, but they did not come in eternal layers. They were bearable. They were...

Megatron opened his optics. There was ground beneath him. Real ground. There was a servo poking at his abdomen; his own servo. Although it did not feel as his own should have. He brought it out from under him and stared. The claws were too long, too wide; there were golden, rusty spikes bumping along them. But they were still his own; they belonged to no other mech. This body did not. He had returned from the multitude to the individual.

Then...Unicron..?

He continued to heave upwards. Once upright once more, Megatron fought from wavering on the stop. Everything felt so...empty. Was it this frame's method of adjusting to the absence of its secondary passenger? Or was his mind too broken now to comprehend being alone among itself?

Disgusting.

This frame was disgusting as well. It was not mangled, but it carried Unicron's taint. The corrosion and added bulk weighed it down as reminders of who it belonged to. Of who his spark belonged to. He would have preferred control over a merely mangled form to this.

One of those voices was getting even more shrill. It was approaching.

"Master!" it cried to him.

Of course. Starscream.

Megatron looked to the seeker and saw far more than just one standing mech. He saw millennias of manipulations, molding, joint betrayals, misery; he saw trust crushed and rebuilt into hateful dependency that had long gone both ways.

"Praise the Allspark! Master-" Starscream came nearer, though noticeably far enough to avoid being in reaching distance. Just as he always did. _He_ had done that. He had demanded words like 'master'. He had made this mech by ruining another. "You're alive!"

What was he to say to that? Of course he was alive. He was Megatron! He would never have allowed Unicron to have the lasting word over this frame.

"Indeed." Megatron said instead, inspecting his corroded servos once more.

Starscream drew nearer still.

"Your new battle armor will take things to the next level, my liege!" he exclaimed. How odd that Starscream would find this parasitical change an improvement. This armor was disgusting. "Together, we will reunite all decepticons!"

What decepticons? He had led almost all to their deaths already. They had been among the multitude. Those remaining were likely to be few: just as the few ones near him now were all that had survived from the _Nemesis's_ former crew.

Soundwave was trying to make his way over; the spymaster was littered in enough wounds to make doing so evidently difficult. It seemed wrong that Starscream would greet him before the other gladiator. Those wounds likely were the only reasoning for such. Shockwave was not rushing frantically to him. Dreadwing was holding back, keeping a smaller decepticon behind himself.

Starscream was still talking even as Soundwave painfully reached his leader's side. He tried to take Megatron's arm and prop the other up. It was almost laughable, seeing how much effort it was taking Soundwave just to keep himself upright. Almost. He wished instead that the other would not attempt it. Not after he had led him along into a war that had drained his fractured spark to nothing.

"-and once again grind Cybertron under your mighty heel!"

There was an irony to it. To all of it: to Soundwave's injuries, Shockwave's hesitance, Dreadwing's avoidance, and mostly to how his wayward, unloyal air commander believed so thoroughly in Megatron's vision and leadership when offered just a few scraps of affirmation in return.

Even after attempts to lead him on suicidal missions, undermine his authority, hide mines for himself- Starscream was still the first to excitedly claim full control went to Megatron. He did not ask to lead as a partnership; he did not ask to crush Cybertron under both their heels together.

And he did not realize how revolting such a plan even was.

"No!" Megatron snapped before he had even realized he had done so.

The mere idea of leading, controlling, of once again returning to the source of suffering for innumerable beings...

"What?" Starscream had stumbled backwards. Dreadwing, even as far away as he still was, had bristled his plating outward to cover the smaller decepticon from view even better. Reactions deserved, deserved, it all was deserved- wasn't it?

The autobots were staring now.

He'd worn a memory from each of them. Their optics were something he could not think to meet now.

"Why?" the seeker continued as flatly.

Soundwave's grip on Megatron's arm had tightened imperceptibly.

The autobots continued to stare. The Prime was being held upright by his first lieutenant and medic and yet he was ignoring both in order to look at a fallen warlord.

Megatron tasted the air before he found his own words.

"Because I now know the true meaning of oppression," he spoke in reply to Starscream's question, but the words were meant for Optimus. They were all the Prime had tried for the duration of the war to pry from him. He had never even considered or comprehended them then- after all, he was the meaning of oppression for that era, was he not? It was merely a state of pride.

Or it was a pride until he tasted the boast and discovered how very true it had always been.

"...and have thus lost my taste for inflicting it."

_You win, Prime._

_You get your victory._

* * *

It played out similarly enough that Knock Out could have quoted all the words being said back at the air.

To a point, at least. There _were_ differences in the crowd this time.

Breakdown was alive and near his side. The predacons had flown, evidently exhausted, back out of the Well and crashed down near Shockwave. Soundwave and Shockwave and Dreadwing were all present rather than dead or who knew where. On the friendlier side of things, Ultra Magnus wasn't comatose and Ratchet wasn't busy sitting by the old grump's berth on some hilltop somewhere.

On occasion, he'd rewatched what memories he'd recorded from that big fight. There was something sad but thrilling about watching Optimus's farewell speech. There was just something exciting in general about having been included with the autobots in that last fight and the immediate aftermath.

Then things had gotten awkward, but ah well.

Sadly, things were getting awkward much earlier now.

First came the fact that Optimus had disposed of Unicron with the jar of doom strategy he had last time. It made Knock Out's spark sink, really. After everything he'd come and said to the big guy, he'd still gone ahead and pulled his sacrificial move on them all.

So he supposed that meant he'd be dying soon.

It just wasn't fair.

Second came the uncomfortable amount of not-so-friendly decepticons everywhere. Sure, Megatron had called them off last time, but he'd only had Starscream available then. He most likely was just trying to avoid a fight that he was heavily outnumbered in. It wasn't like he could actually want to avoid fighting autobots or anything. But this time he had a whole lot more backup to even the playing field. Soundwave was trying (and failing, Knock Out had to admit; the silent con may have been tall, but he'd also been trampled by a herd of zombies and was practically falling over himself) to prop Megatron upright. Shockwave was near them. Starscream was looking at the Big M in evident confusion.

Really, the only one that didn't look willing to join the warlord's side was Dreadwing.

Strange enough. But not really interesting enough to focus on for long.

Knock Out went through the script in his mind once again. Megatron had just shut down Starscream's proposal to continue the war and...

Wait, what? Well, there went that theory of his. Not that he was going to complain. There was no fragging way he wanted this stupid war to get prolonged. That hadn't been why he'd come back here at all.

Now Soundwave had twisted his neck at an incredibly awkward angle to look up at the warlord and Shockwave had tilted his own head to one side. Neither were particularly readable, but they still seemed pretty good at portraying a bit of surprise there.

"...You are ending the war?" Shockwave said over Starscream's suggestion that Megatron was traumatized and rambling.

Of course he wouldn't be happy. Without a war, there'd probably be rules and laws and all sorts of things prohibiting his labs from being operational.

No more predacons or combiners or anything of the like.

Thank Primus.

Megatron looked away from his air commander to stare at the scientist.

"The decepticons are no more," he confirmed.

Shockwave leaned back. Soundwave froze up. Megatron easily peeled away from his stationary TIC's attempted help.

There was a highly uncomfortable moment wherein the warlord (former warlord? was someone even allowed to just retire from a position like that?) looked over each of those gathered nearby. When the stare landed on Knock Out and his partner and lingered there, he felt the increasing need to just ditch this scene entirely.

"...and that is final."

Knock Out forced his vents open again in relief. They'd survived whatever _that_ was. They were decepticon traitors, but apparently that didn't matter anymore. Not if their founder was a traitor too.

After the words were said, Megatron shoved away from the decepticons around him and shot into the sky. Soundwave was shaking minutely; he made to follow, but any good (or at the least decent) medic could say that was never going to happen so long as his body looked an inch away from offlining.

Starscream was the next to leave, nervously giving some smile and excuse and flying from the scene. Shockwave had backed away and folded down to drive. It would be easy enough to track him down. The mech had no speed at all to his altmode.

And, from the looks of it, they still had three of the "_ultimate autobot hunter_"s on their team. Bumblebee could work his charismatic magic and probably get the predacons to round up all AWOL decepticons on the planetside.

The rest remained still. The container with Unicron's anti-spark inside had been picked up by Optimus under one arm. The autobots wordlessly resumed their attempt to gather around him.

"Optimus!" Smokescreen was the first to begin congratulations. "You were- you just showed up and- you were like 'bam' and-"

Bulkhead slapped a servo down on the rookies shoulder with a laugh. "What he said," the wrecker grinned. "You got here just in time."

Arcee was a bit more restrained than either of those two, but she was still smiling. "We couldn't have done it without you."

That was completely true. Unicron apparently had to be beat by mystical means.

Optimus still shook his head minutely.

"You can win battles without me," he replied.

As nice as the vote of confidence was, it did make Knock Out's spark pang in panic. Was this his way of saying goodbye? It had to have been, with the Allspark missing and only one place it could've gone. Dammit Optimus. Dammit.

"I don't think we would've," Bumblebee argued with a smile of his own. "Sure, we had help, but we couldn't have gotten him sucked out of Buckethead like you did."

Finally, someone with an ounce of intelligence.

"Optimus..." Ultra Magnus started up after the words had sunk in for all of the autobot circle. "What can we do to dispose of him now?"

That wasn't quite what Knock Out would've asked (he was rather stuck on the question 'where did the Allspark go?'), but it was a good one regardless. Last time, he was pretty sure it had been buried in some hole with a good set of protections over it. Not ideal, but who had cared about the chaos god when there was some upstart government causing problems?

A frequency of static fritzed into the air. It brought their attention over to the culprit where he was still standing where Megatron had left him. Soundwave's visor flashed; a picture overlaid on top. It looked like a graph of a groundbridge vortex- near another one? seemed like it. What...

"The shadowzone?" Ratchet narrowed his optics. "We hardly know enough of that phenomenon to risk putting Unicron in there."

"I concur," a different voice joined.

The peanut gallery was just really being nosy today, wasn't it? And by that, Knock Out of course referred to the annoying decepticons interrupting a moment of magnitude for the future of Optimus Prime.

"My twin's corpse roams that 'shadowzone' as a mindless undead drone," Dreadwing continued. "If Unicron is the one who controls such abominations..."

He left it hanging. Ratchet was still frowning.

"We never learned whether the shadowzone is a direct parallel of this world or if it exists in pockets unconnected to each other, as the children reported it being" he said. "If it's the latter, then putting Unicron into it in a pocket here could be disconnected from wherever Skyquake is roaming around."

The frown deepened. "Either way, it's too risky. We'll just have to guard it until we think of something."

Soundwave hardly seemed disappointed to have his suggestion shut down. The mute had already turned to limp away.

Just another one to sic Predaking on later, Knock Out supposed. Maybe they could get him locked up again. Or maybe he'd disappear with Megatron, implicated to have flown offworld last time. It was weird enough to watch him offer help in the first place; the medic was good not seeing that- or Soundwave in general- again.

For now-

Someone finally asked the question before he even had the chance to.

"If that's the container for the Allspark," Bulkhead started, pointing at the reliquary where angry purple energy was swirling ineffectually. "-then where's the Allspark now?"

Knock Out felt steeled enough; he supposed now was as good a time as any to find out if Optimus had completely ignored his pleas to stick around in the world of the living.

* * *

They gathered further from the spot of Unicron's defeat.

The Well happened to be rather close to that spot. Now, all of those still present stood at its edge with the last of the Primes.

"In order to both protect the Allspark and secure Unicron's defeat, it was necessary for me to empty the vessel's contents," Optimus explained.

He looked over those who were gathered near.

These were the brave, the trusted, the unexpected, who had stood as Cybertron's last defense before his return to the planet. There were no better cybertronians to entrust the future of Cybertron to; this, Optimus knew.

And yet he knew of Knock Out's warnings as well.

"Into where?" Ratchet asked with an edge of suspicion.

The medic was always sharp. His old friend had always been quick to figure out when something was wrong; Optimus could not help but grieve preemptively for Ratchet's inevitable upset.

"Into the Matrix of Leadership."

And there it was- the hurt. It flashed over Ratchet's face.

Optimus did not allow himself time to dwell long on it.

"As such," he spoke again, "the Matrix can no longer be separated from the Well of Allsparks."

Had it not been for the forge, it would have been his very spark that would not have been able to be separated.

His spark would have joined with the multitude and his body would have crumbled in its absence.

Yet Optimus Prime's persona was tied intrinsically with the Matrix. While his body would not crumble without it, it would not be him who sat in its helm once the Matrix was relinquished.

And that was realized as well.

"Optimus!" Ratchet took a step closer. "Without the Matrix, you won't be- you won't be you."

The break in the medic's voice stung Optimus deeply. But he was, for this moment still, a Prime. They lived behind a veil of dissociated professionalism. As painful as his companion's emotions were to witness, he still would take the actions that were best for all cybertronians.

For now, he knew.

How odd it would be to lose that veil.

"Our war is over, Ratchet." Optimus looked at him gently. "Now is a time for peace. A peacetime government must be established."

Knock Out began to splutter.

"B-but you should lead it!" he argued. "You should at least be a part of it! Don't let the world forget you."

_Not this time._

"I have taken precautions," Optimus told him and all those others nearby. "This will not progress as it did after I used the Matrix in the Earth's core. My memories and experiences will be retained by that whom I become after relinquishing the mantle of Primehood. Optimus Prime will live on through those."

In a sense, at the very least. And he knew that his own memories and experiences would never allow the mech he would become to stand aside and let a hostile government hunt his autobots down.

"That won't make him you," Ratchet said desperately. "I didn't go through all this today just to lose the life I care about the most."

In many circumstances, the medic tried not to reveal his own affections. He acted bristled and blunt and almost apathetic in some situations. It was a wartime survival tactic. It preserved his own sanity. It broke apart now for all those to see.

And still that could not stop him.

"The war is over," he repeated with a shake of his head. "I am a Prime: I am a leader of warriors, not governments. And I am eager for time away from fighting."

There was little wonder that his alternative self had taken the Allspark into his spark without those precautions. But he had not allowed that option. Instead, Optimus would search for a different peace; he would fade under the presence of Orion Pax once more and allow the former archivist to face the complications of a peacetime world.

"Hold up." Arcee lifted a servo with a frown of her own. "How do you know this would let you survive? I don't think we can afford your death right now. Not with Megatron back."

There was a request in there too.

Perhaps if he had not complicated matters by forging the Matrix, he would have leapt into the Well by now. Perhaps that would have allowed him to avoid these questions and sparkbreaks and flaws in his own plan for escaping his exhaustion.

"Optimus Prime was once Orion Pax," he replied. "The process was reversed once, after I used the Matrix of Leadership on Unicron's anti-spark on the day of alignment; such a reversal was unprecedented. But it was done regardless."

He looked up over the others, over the crashed warship, over the planetside itself at the stars beyond- and then he spoke on.

"The Matrix was built around the idea of personal transformation. A mortal cybertronian will transcend themself by taking on the Matrix of Leadership. It will not only change their body; it transforms the mind and spark."

Optimus looked back to all those gathered near him. He was so very proud of each one. He was so very proud of all those who had given their lives to allow these few to see this victory.

"In that sense, the Age of Primes was one characterized by this transformation. Mechs and femmes found the mantle and sacrificed their own individuality to be remade. Once the Matrix is accepted, their original self will, in essence, die and a independent figure will be built out of their most prevailing qualities."

The war could not be excused. But the fruit it bore could still be commended.

All of these before him had been tested, molded, and ultimately transformed by how the war met and clashed with their own ideals. The Age of Primes was merely an analogue for those brave persons like the ones before him now. Its end was not one to mourn, but one long coming. There was no need for analogy anymore. There was no need to give a crutch to the many who were not Primes in ceremony but were at spark.

"A Prime is an extreme of ideals and traits mixed with the duty to protect Primus and the collective wisdom of all those before them to help guide them towards what decisions would be best for their people. One individual is sacrificed and replaced with a unity of knowledge and experience. Each that takes the mantle on understands that they will never again live as they were."

When Orion Pax had accepted the Matrix, there had been fear. It was subdued and pushed under questionings on worth and wonderings if he would be an acceptable Prime, but it had still been present. No one was immune to even the slightest of fears when faced with their own end.

By accepting the Primehood, Orion Pax had stepped aside, sunk into a state of slow existence, and allowed Optimus Prime to rise. By accepting the Allspark into the Matrix, Optimus had made peace with his own inevitable fading just as Orion had once of his.

"They accept this sacrifice. They accept this reality. They show themselves before Primus to be one willing of the greatest transformation."

It was too much for many to bear. And so it was that many would never be faced with the option at all.

The Ages of Primes was a great time- an era of greatness- a history to be proud of-

but it was one that excluded many of the worthy in order to choose but one.

One that would be faced with changes and accept those transformations rather than touting rigidity.

"A Prime is a leader, but also a culmination of willingness to adapt. While my actions today have spelled an end to the Age of the Primes, leadership can be earned: with or without the Matrix. And in my view, you have each acted as a Prime."

They were all silent now. There were no protests vocalized. Each was watching him with rapt attention. He gave them a gentle smile and continued his praise.

"You have displayed leadership; bravery; heroism; sacrifice. I ask now that you be willing to adapt as well."

There was little choice; the Allspark must be returned to the Well.

But he did not desire for them to mourn his parting in this world. It was a strange farewell to give. It asked them to see his very frame moving around them in their everyday lives whilst knowing that he was not the mind inside. Not in full.

Orion Pax had retained his existence through phantom emotions and shared values. Optimus believed he would exist on in much the same manner- and, in that, his family here could catch a glimpse of the familiar and how he did live on.

"This is not the end," he offered them a smile. "Though I will not remain Optimus Prime, my memories and experiences will be retained. I believe that we shall all meet again, in little ways and moments."

He inclined his head in Ratchet's direction. The medic looked no less devastated.

"Do not lament my absence. This change is not a farewell. It is merely a new beginning."

The Prime tried to smile again.

"Simply put: another transformation."

With that, he took his last look at those he called his dearest companions and then faced the expanse of the Well. Optimus opened his chestplates. The Matrix- or that which he had irreversibly changed the Matrix into- disconnected with his chassis and spark rapidly.

It dropped into the Well. He dropped to a knee. As he felt the veil lifting and his own self slipping beneath anothers, he was still able to watch the light bloom deep within the Well. It flared softly once and then bloomed brighter, larger- it rose up from the core swiftly until its mass of light became unique strands of colors.

A million sparks- a million voices- a million lives.

Life on Cybertron would burn once again.

And that made any personal sacrifice worth it.


	103. A Construct Built From Dirty Slates

It felt strange to be alive.

It was not as it had been during his brief resurrection as an amnesiac. That time, he had been disoriented but had no reason to suspect anything odd about his continued functioning.

This time, he retained a lifetime of memories that proved to him exactly why his state in the world of the living was strange.

It would take time to adjust, he supposed. Unfortunately, time was not a commodity they could afford in great quantity at this very moment. There were decepticons on the loose. There were cybertronians in space flying nearer to this world.

There were doubts. So many of those.

And there was so much pain.

He'd returned to a world where a majority of cybertronians were dead. A world that someone he had once cared for had destroyed so many lives and become something he could not help but loathe him and so many of those who had stood at his side in causing such misery. A world where Primus had died and his corpse was littered in the dead of millions.

It was too much for the archivist- one who had last lived during the beginnings of the war, when there was still hope that such a war could be avoided- to grasp all at once.

He felt he was doing a commendable job in trying, at least.

"We can't," he said in reply to one of Ultra Magnus's suggestions. The large mech (it was so strange to see that such a large mech was still smaller than him; Orion had always been a small mech, but now he was in a body that was far from the size of his old one) fell respectfully silent.

"There are autobots out there that will come to Cybertron and won't want to accept the idea of a truce by word alone. They'll see that we have the advantage here and push for us to merely take the planet for our own."

Ultra Magnus did not seem to look entirely displeased by the idea.

"Meanwhile," Orion continued. "-there will be decepticons coming down and they won't believe our word of mouth that Megatron disbanded their cause. They're going to think it's a trick and see the autobots as attempting to oppress them through deception."

Both the elite guardsmech and Ratchet frowned.

"But you're proposing something that would make both sides unhappy," the medic argued.

It was true, unfortunately. But it was better both be unhappy rather than both be upset enough to attempt to continue this war or else oppress the citizens of Cybertron (as Knock Out had reported happening to his old world).

"It also wouldn't alienate either," Orion replied. "It would set both factions on even footing and allow all of us a new start on this world. If we hang on to past affiliation, we'll never be able to leave the scars of this war behind."

And Orion wanted the same thing Optimus always had- peace.

This was their first chance in eons to try to heal their world. Its physical body had been repaired, but to hang on to the old factions or dreams of a second Golden Age (or a decepticon empire) would be to never allow its society to repair.

"What about neutrals?" Ultra Magnus folded his servos together. As upset as he sounded at Orion's ideas, he was not outright demanding they be replaced with enforcing the autobot code.

Orion believed in that code. But he also knew that outright enforcing it (as opposed to believing it and steering the world in its direction without naming its affiliation) would alienate all those who had chosen not to take on the autobrand.

"Some of them will be angry that the Prime is gone," the mech elaborated. "Some will be angry to see decepticons remain unexecuted, let alone be forced to see their faces in government. Some will just be angry to see the hallmarks of both factions at their lead instead of cybertronians who remained neutral like themselves."

All of which were very real concerns.

None of which had easy answers.

"I will appeal to the neutrals," he offered as he stood. The former archivist in the body of a Prime began to pace in a manner quite unlike what Optimus would have done to clear his mind. "The autobots are going to probably see me-" Orion waved up and down the unfamiliar bulk "-as their Prime even if I say I'm not. They'll probably think that as a whole no matter what I say. So I'll reach out to the neutrals by pointing out that I, as Orion Pax, never choose a faction brand and they may think their spiritual leader has no alignment; just like they don't."

There had been none solidified at the time that he had last lived, after all. If he had continued to fight without seeking the Matrix, he did not doubt that he would have joined the autobots.

"Hopefully that will convince them to give this world a try while also not managing to drive autobots off. I think-" he bit his lip briefly before nodding at Ultra Magnus. "I think you should be the official commander for the autobot faction. Even if they do insist on seeing me as a Prime, you know far more than I do about leading them."

Ratchet threw his servos down and looked away, but he did not argue it.

Ultra Magnus did not seem convinced.

"Even if we are able to establish a state of peace among the surviving cybertronians and the newsparks from the Well, we are still weakened from the war. Other planets and governments could attempt to take advantage of us."

As Orion opened his mouth to contest it, the lieutenant spoke over him.

"I understand that many would rather ignore us altogether. But some could see who it is you wish to appoint in the government and grow far too angry at your forgiveness to leave us alone. There could be trade barriers, travel sanctions, even attacks."

That almost irritated Orion. He was upset over everything right now. His recent return left him disoriented. There was so much pain everywhere from a war that had destroyed so much. There was a shadow of corruption ready to take advantage of their fledgling state of peace and here he was trying to find the best option for keeping that away.

It did not grow to full blown frustration, but he still ached to think that Cybertron would never again regain its respected standing in the universe if his plan was accepted.

"We have had wars in the past. Let the universe think we are a warlike culture," Orion said. "That our culture fights but does not hang on to grudges once the latest war is over."

It was a distasteful suggestion. It felt so insulting for Primus's sake. The god was one of life, not war. But it could keep them from drawing too many suggestions and demands from other planets or federations.

"Maybe we could say that," Ratchet replied with a frustrated gesture. "But there were whole worlds wiped of life in this war. If we'd kept it among ourselves, maybe aliens would just consider us a war culture that's always at risk for imploding on itself. It didn't stay among ourselves though."

There had been so many genocides. One was too many and yet there had been more and more.

Even with all of Optimus's memories, Orion felt that reality hard to bear.

"We'll make a publicized deal with humanity. They know we exist, do they not? The insecticons ruined our cover on that planet. Perhaps a deal with one organic planet will be a first step in letting others see us as willing to leave this war and its genocides behind," he offered.

They were such a young people. They were so capable of spawning their own decepticons, as M.E.C.H. had shown. They had long been a warfaring planet themselves. Throwing them into the celestial circus hardly seemed fair.

Optimus would never have even suggested it. He had wanted so badly to protect them from the stains cybertronians brought.

But it was already too late for that. The best they could offer for reparations was a treaty of some kind; something that would keep any of Cybertron's still living enemies from attacking what they would otherwise think was an unprotected planet.

This was all a mess.

Orion wanted to slump in exhaustion. He wished Alpha Trion could have been here to offer advice. He wished this entire war could've been avoided.

But he'd also witnessed life returning to Cybertron this very cycle.

He had always been an optimist. That sight had filled him with a hope for the future of Cybertron and no amount of struggling through laws and plans would manage to kill the joy of watching the Allspark return.

* * *

Even though the ship had crashed, the groundbridge still worked. There were two mechs on board who really knew how to operate it. One of them had been found on the ground unconscious and carried to the medbay by an irate Ratchet. The other was that medic himself.

After their meeting with Ultra Magnus, Orion had asked his doctor friend to send him in search for the wildcards left on Cybertron. The largest of the predacons had aided him in that after the archivist had introduced himself to the mech and asked for help. He- Predaking, Orion found the name in his memory cores- had spent a short time scanning for the life signs of Megatron, Starscream, and Shockwave. All he asked in return was to have Shockwave left for he and his fellow predacons to 'deal with'. Orion had asked what, exactly, that entailed and had gotten a cryptic answer in return. He determined to speak with Predaking at a later time on where the clone would fit into their new world. Something gave him a feeling that Bumblebee would be a wise addition to that later conversation. All in all, he had rather liked the sophisticated predacon from first impressions and hoped that their races could live in together on this planet happily.

The first groundbridge deposited him on the top floor of Darkmount. Orion stepped out and looked around the dim throne room nervously. It was an awful place, he could tell just by its appearance. The damaged throne looked like one intended for a tyrant. The walls and ceilings felt overbearing and hostile in how they curved and sharply pointed down at him.

There was a mech near the throne. He stood looking down at it as though it had somehow disappointed him greatly. There was no color to his plating. It was so very unlike the vibrant seeker he remembered from the militia.

"Starscream," Orion called. The decepticon twisted around quickly and pointed flaring weapons at him.

"Optimus Prime," the seeker sneered. "Stay back! Or I'll send you to your autobots in pieces!"

When he was inside this armor? Orion did not think it likely.

"I am not him," he said and took another step closer despite the warning.

This mech had killed a friend of Optimus's on Earth. This mech had a trail of atrocities behind him.

This mech had been the one who- unknowingly or not- sent him into Primehood twice and, in doing so, sealed an autobot victory.

"The war is over," Orion spoke up again gently. "Do you really want to continue shedding energon for a lost cause?"

All empirical evidence would suggest that Starscream's answer was yes.

But Orion would not accept that.

"Cybertron is going to live again," he continued with a small wave of one servo. "It will live under a government that will not demand one side over another be jailed or executed. But that requires the leading commanders of both factions to officially stand down: not continue the war."

Starscream's sneer curled viciously.

"It sounds like a weak world, then. One that my decepticons will have no struggle in conquering."

Orion didn't flinch.

"Starscream," he said. "You once convinced me that I was meant to be a Prime during the early days of the war. You did the same recently, when I had lost my memories. Give me a chance to convince you that you can be something greater than the losing commander in a dying war."

The weapons wavered. The seeker's optics went wide while his mouth fluttered. Then his demeanor went stiff again.

"Get out," Starscream snapped.

Orion commed Ratchet and left calmly through the bridge the medic summoned.

Only time would tell if his words had succeeded or if Starscream's death would be necessary for the war to accept its state of truce.

* * *

The autobots had won.

That much was clear when the eruption of sparks had poured out from the Well.

The autobots had won and Megatron could not even find it in himself to be bitter of that fact. He ceased his flight, landed on an outcropping nearby, and watched the sparks spread out over the planetside.

The Allspark was majestic. It was vivid and lively and chaotic as it poured out. And it was something his spark could never find itself a part of.

Megatron watched and thought of life- and of death. Of how his feelings on it had transformed and how they remained.

He still did not want to die. It had nothing to do with legends and pride.

It was fear.

Fear that he would return to Unicron when he perished. And, the disgusting coward that he was, he did not want to return to that so soon.

But while he did not wish to die, he knew he had to leave this planet behind.

His legend was a stain of horror and tyranny. It deserved to be forgotten. He deserved to be forgotten.

Flying from it, never staining it with his presence again- it was all he could do to let this world forget him.

Soon, he would go. For now, he would stare at everything he'd poisoned and attempted to kill. He planned to never see it again.

Jours passed while he gazed over forbidden fruit. An engine was the first noise to break him from his reverie. It was a familiar rattle; one that he had heard many times since returning to his army after his journey into deep space. It belonged to an alt mode of human design; he had always scorned taking on such an alt mode himself and now he did not know that it would be possible to choose another with the changes Unicron had made to his frame.

The engine drew near before the sound of transformation interrupted it. Heavy pedefall came to his place on the outcropping.

For a moment, they remained in tensed silence. Then, he grew sick of waiting for the other to explain his presence.

"Here to kill me, Optimus?" he asked tiredly.

The other mech didn't speak; just stood there watching him. Then he moved forward and sat by the gray mech.

"He is not here," the other said.

Oh? Megatron's optics narrowed.

"He took the Allspark into the Matrix and let it pour into the Well."

Oh.

"So then you are..."

When Megatron drifted off, the mech besides him confirmed his unfinished question.

"Orion."

Ironic, then, that on the cycle Megatron left his old self behind, Optimus would as well.

Once, he would have seen it merely as evidence for their existence as legends.

"And are you here to kill me?" he spoke into the silence.

The mech who had never truly betrayed anyone leaned forward over his legs.

"I do not plan to."

Of course he did not. Orion had always been a pacifist. It was a quality that carried over to the Prime he had made.

If only it hadn't. If only Optimus had killed him far sooner. It would have cut down on so many of those false memories. It would have prevented him from ever finding dark energon and alienating his spark from the Allspark in the first place.

"I will not make you endure my presence," Megatron said. "I wish to see this planet live free of my war for only a cycle longer. Then I will fly. You and Cybertron will never have to see me again."

Even if he would not allow himself to die, he would not remain to watch this world rebuild and heal without him.

"You want to run?" Orion's voice was far too contained. "Megatron, how very unlike you."

"Megatron died on Earth," he growled.

He had been killed by a no one, by a scout. It was disgustingly fitting, in hindsight.

"You may have disbanded the decepticons, but without you here to confirm that it was not a fabrication, how many will truly stand down?" the other asked. "How many will continue to fight? How much fighting will be needed to kill the peace this world is being given a chance to create?"

How many were even left to do so? It hardly could matter. He could not remain. He could not face those who were here, let alone what newcomers would arrive; Starscream's presence had proved that earlier.

"What would you have me do?" Megatron turned on him. "Stay? Stay and soil this world with my presence, just to keep my former soldiers in line?"

It was ludicrous.

"I would have you stay and present yourself as evidence that this war is over," Orion replied immediately. "I would have an official truce. I would see to it that our former factions see their leaders have called the war off and demand that truce to be respected."

The brisk tone faded. Orion closed his optics once and, when he spoke again, it was softer.

"The Golden Age held to a senate. Its predecessors held to a council of Primes. Such did not work by the time of the Golden Age and it will not work now." The other looked out over Cybertron. "Trying to return to a government like that will only cause tension among autobots, decepticons, neutrals, and those alien spacefarers that have survived your war. My friends have suggested that many will see me as a Prime regardless of my own identity as Orion Pax. They will likely see me as the spiritual leader that Primes have been seen as in the past. I can stand in as that figurehead, regardless of my lack of the Matrix; you can stand in as another."

Megatron laughed.

"Absolutely not!" he flashed dentae upon finishing his mirth. "Did your relinquishment of the Matrix cause you to relinquish memories again? You seem to forget who it is you are speaking to."

He ground his claws against the ground.

"I will not lead anyone ever again. I will not see another cybertronian again, let alone a populace. Do you not understand the suffering I caused?"

Surely, Optimus had. It had always been a matter of enjoyment to watch the Prime's empathy drag him down with every new murder or torture Megatron inflicted on one of his mechs.

"I had no reason to do it; to start this war after being denied the Matrix nor to refuse every truce you- Optimus- offered," he stated. "There was no rational betrayal or grief pushing me towards that brink. I _wanted_ to do it all. I knew it, you know it, _everyone will._ I cannot face them; not as the one who chose to put them all through hells."

"I was not giving you a choice," Orion contested. "You wish to leave and not face any of my people? You do not deserve that mercy and you know it."

That...

had been unexpected. Megatron gaped even as the other continued to look at him stonily.

"I knew that Optimus hated me," he replied through his surprise. "-but I hardly believed him capable of forcing others to suffer just for his revenge."

Even as he said it, he felt the lie.

"Optimus never hated you," the other said. "He was barely capable of hate. As much as he attributed it to the Matrix, I don't think it was the whole reason he was dulled from feeling everything."

The other reason was _him_. Of course it was. He'd strung along hopes for the sake of dashing them for too long; that would desensitize anyone, but especially a hopeful mech like Optimus.

The news added onto a list of regrets too long to ever work at rectifying.

"And you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Orion looked away.

"I was always emotional."

It was an answer enough. He could not have expected otherwise. He should not have expected otherwise. Orion was right to detest him. Whatever affection they had once shared had long gone cold under millennia of atrocities and manipulations on his part.

"I wish to leave this place," Megatron said after their silence became suffocating. "Keeping me here will only cause more pain. Surely you can see that."

The other turned back to him.

"All I can see is that your disappearance would both make your decepticons unlikely to believe their cause was disbanded and would put them on uneven footing in a world of autobot leaders. I only need you to present yourself. You look enough like you used to; everyone will be convinced it is you. I can be seen as a Prime; you can be seen as a warrior. The spiritual leader and the military defender."

What a joke it was to ever be called a defender. He was an aggressor who sought only his own gain, not the protection of others. But-

"Are there truly decepticons who will stand down as you did or will most seek to continue the cause under their own- or another's- leadership? That can be preemptively dealt with; you will remain their leader, at least in their own vision."

-But it did not mean anything genuine. Orion was setting up a show. It was for appearances only. He was meant only to stay here to keep his decepticons in line while the optics of a thousand victims judged and feared him. The shame of the former was enraging, but the latter would be a continued existence of confusion in a manner much like he had experienced when seeing Starscream earlier that cycle.

"That makes me a puppet. A figurehead to be seen while you direct my every move." Megatron frowned. "I will not-"

His words died in his throat. He stared at the other's expression and saw no room for protest.

"You wish to have a public show," the former warlord started up again after looking away from the emotions contained in Orion's optics. "But I am not Megatron. I will not be the face or leader of the decepticons again."

A servo grabbed his shoulder and tilted him back to face the other again.

"And I am not Optimus. But they will see me as a Prime even though I am not. They will see you as Megatron-"

"-even if I am not." The gray mech slumped. The servo kept him from collapsing completely. "I can see your point."

However detestable a point it was.

He tested the words carefully. "So you want a truce?" he repeated the earlier word.

There was something in the other's expression that seemed only a step from grief. Orion's voice was strong regardless.

"I always have."

It cut too deeply. It was a pain he would need to adjust to, if he was going to be forced to feel it from thousands of others on the regular.

Orion's servo dropped from him and turned palm up. The mech stood up and kept that servo waiting.

"This isn't me asking you to start over," he said plainly. "This isn't a clean slate; this isn't forgiveness or forgetting; this isn't me being happy to have to see your face ever again, let alone on a regular basis. But this is the best way I can think of for convincing your decepticons to stand down and live with Optimus's autobots."

No one would be happy with this arrangement.

But, with any luck, no one would be enraged enough with the publicized truce to continue killing.

* * *

He was still mulling it all over- enjoying the breeze of a living world while he held to the railing of the topmost patio- when another came to Darkmount. The visitor was too fast to be most decepticons. Soundwave's human designed drone alt had good speed, but not that good. The autobots were all notoriously slow and encumbered.

That left one option.

And Starscream did not like that option.

He felt slighted from earlier; he felt reeling over words he'd never have expected from Megatron; he felt- he felt- he did not know what he wished to do next and he hated it! He always had contingencies, plans, and goals. Thanks to that slight from earlier, he had nothing.

None of that stopped Megatron from reaching the throne room's floor and transforming there. Starscream clenched the railing tighter; his talons carved grooves into it.

Far too familiar pedefall crossed the room and approached the patio with revolting hesitance. Everything about the mech was revolting. He'd known that for a long time, yet now it was merely the fact that_ this was not his Megatron_ that disturbed him.

"You spoke with Orion Pax?"

It was rhetorical, no matter how much like a question the voice made it be. Things were always rhetorical with this insufferable know-it-all.

"What do you care?" Starscream responded stiffly. He refused to turn around. He could not face the slagger now.

That did not stop the abomination from walking into his line of sight and staring at his profile.

"There's no reason to chase a dead dream," Megatron said.

Oh, how poetic. So _good_ to see he'd died and come back as someone willing to use his brain module for once. Just fragging fantastic.

"There is no reason for anything else," the seeker countered as he finally willed himself to shift and face the mech. He was so much taller now. "The decepticon cause may have been forgotten by you, but I will show it to the glory it deserves. I will lead it to a new era! My lead will bring it prosperity and strength and everything you said I could not manage to-" he hissed.

Recants were in his mouth the moment he finished. His wings were ready to dip down and quake. He wondered how much more it would hurt with Megatron's new bulk.

For far, far too long, the other was silent. Confused pride morphed to fear morphed to irritation. Starscream glanced over the edge of the railing and wondered if he should just fly from this spot and get away from this revolting mockery of the greatest mech who had ever functioned.

And then Megatron did speak.

"Starscream," he started flatly. There was nothing hostile in that tone and Starscream half wished there was. That, at the least, would be their routine, familiar- there was safety in the familiar. And this whole end of the war situation held nothing familiar for him.

"You were the best second in command the decepticons ever had."

Wait.

He thought back on the cortical psychic patch.

_You were not even the greatest lieutenant I had ever had watch my side._

"But-but you said-"

The other's face curled into a snarl. Well, there was his 'familiar'.

"I lied," Megatron hissed. "Do you not believe me capable of it? I lied because I could not fuel your ambitions or pride; I lied to keep you in your role as my subservient. I...I lied because I believed it was true. But I had never accepted that Orion Pax had never been my lieutenant and never would be."

Oh, this was rich.

He didn't know that he had ever hated the mech more than he did now.

"Flattery won't stop me," Starscream brushed the words off. "The only way you could keep me from reviving the decepticons in my name is to beat the idea out of me. Oh-" he gave a laugh. "-but you won't do that anymore, will you? Not after learning the 'true meaning of oppression' or whatever it was you tried to say."

And it had come as a yell then- hadn't it?

It had come in a tone that had sent Starscream retreating and chastised.

It had never meant a thing so long as it was used thusly with him.

Megatron was glaring, but he did not yell this time.

"Do you understand what Unicron did to me?" he asked lowly.

Did he care?

Not one bit. Personally, he hoped the fragger stuck him into some sort of mental acid pit and let him rot there a while.

"He made me experience _everything_. Everything I'd ever done to another, from their view."

That was...he didn't know what to do with that.

"To you."

Unease crawled over him. He looked over the expanse of land simply to avoid having to look at the slagger.

"I'm shedding lubricant," he mocked. "Now why do you think that pity party of yours will make me stop in my goal to resurrect the decepticons?"

Starscream was sneering. It made the other change course.

"You injected dark energon to reanimate Skyquake, did you not?"

It was a one-time incident. He'd been half drugged from surgery at the time.

"What of it?" Starscream brushed the small incident away.

Megatron leaned over him.

"Then we had both best hope that container will be barrier enough at our death," he growled down. "-or else our souls shall join Unicron's anti-spark. And then you will understand what I mean. The trail of destruction and misery you've cast in your wake will be significant enough plaything for him."

Death had always been far too frightening. This hardly reassured him in that terror. Starscream returned to gripping the railing so hard it nearly pinched apart.

It was one time. One surgery induced episode of madness.

And it would have to decide his fate? it would have to keep him from doing anything that made him too much of a target, so as to prevent that promise after death?

He hated this fragging reality.

"The decepticons aren't worth it," Megatron finished.

But what else was?

* * *

The warship was still crashed outside the Well. It was perfectly easy to find and just as easy to soar down to.

He landed on the flight deck and strode in with faked confidence.

It seemed all of the others who mattered were gathered on the bridge. Starscream walked to it without resistance. Not until he reached the lift itself. There, the autobot rookie was talking to that traitor Knock Out. Both jerked up in surprise when they saw him. Starscream ignored them in favor of shoving through to the lift.

Upon exiting onto that bridge, Arcee was the first to pull her blasters out and point them at him.

Oh, she wouldn't like this at all.

That almost made him like it more.

"Keep your guns away, autobot," the seeker sneered. "You're pointing those at the ruler of Vos."

The words killed all other conversations. Op-...Orion turned from Ultra Magnus. Arcee looked ready to shoot him regardless of what he said. Predaking tilted his head in curiosity.

"Are you...Does this mean that you won't be continuing to press for decepticon leadership?" Orion was the first to ask.

Really, he'd thought the words were self-explanatory enough.

"You all can set up whatever little happy autobot government you want here," Starscream sneered. "But Vos will be independent of that government."

It had always been a city state in the past. A portion of Cybertron, but one isolated from all others. It was privy to the signing of all new laws and treaties and trade deals, but the rules of Iacon did not apply to it. Or the seekers of Vos pretended they did not, at the least. In the Golden Age, they all had pretended that stubbornly even as the council suffocated their every movement.

He would not be suffocated by the former Prime or his former master any longer. This time, it truly would be sovereign to itself.

"Vos is mine," Starscream declared. "Neither of you will control it. It is mine."

For once, he would have something all to himself. He would prove to all the rest that his uncontested rule would find the successes they'd said he could never have.

Less than a breem later, he'd flown from the ship of hostiles once again. He soared to the ruins of Vos and found the tallest peak left over from the bombings and war.

Starscream landed atop that rubble, looked out over his newly uncontested domain, and felt no victory.


	104. Parties, Peace, Problematic Plans

The last time he'd witnessed an alien party, he'd pulled an all nighter bouncing around from watching the oxymoron that was drunk robots and the far less funny conversation of a soldier in an unpleasant situation.

Well, Fowler had only that day to compare to this one and so he couldn't help but compare to a degree.

There were, however disappointing it was, no drunk robots this time. Considering the fact that the kids and Ms. Darby were here this time, that may have been for the best. There was also no unhappy Bulkhead to comfort on the roof. Considering the fact that the roof would've exposed him to the exoplanet's air, that was also for the best. Now, Bulkhead seemed pretty happy with partying. He was mainly following Miko around to aid with whatever plan she cooked up, but Fowler still caught sight of the big guy passing time with just about everyone else: including the two deserters he'd been so unhappy with in January.

Time really had flown by since then.

And everyone really did seem so excitedly happy at the moment, even if chaos was going to return the minute they all tried to return to business.

For now, Fowler kicked back and enjoyed the show.

* * *

The vehicons had offered their rec rooms up. They were larger than the officer's room, if just because there were so many more of them to fill those rooms up with. While there were far more accessories and comforts in the officer recreation room, the autobots had ultimately decided to accept the vehicon's offer.

Lights were dug up and strung around the room. Wheeljack tried to convert a few of the ship's inflorescences to more exciting lights; and, since he did manage to not make them outright explosive, they were now sitting on top of some of the tables in the room. Knock Out had raided the supply cabinets in search of high grade and came back with boxes of flavors and additives instead. Those now were sprawled out on the dispensary table. A set of empty boxes turned upside down on table tops made up the makeshift counters for the incoming humans. They'd have to bring their own food, but at least on top of a cybertronian sized table they were unlikely to be trampled.

The spacebridge was already fueled with stabilized synthetic energon. Ratchet waited there for the call that would alert him to the humans' readiness to visit. So long as they remained inside the _Nemesis_ (or those areas that the crash hadn't compromised), they wouldn't need to wear any special sort of suits like Jack had when they'd sent him to find Vector Sigma.

Everyone had missed each other. Now that Unicron had been dealt with, it seemed safe enough for the humans to visit. Besides, Orion had been very eager to meet their allies.

And the others liked any excuse to party.

Finally, the recreation room was set up, the humans had gotten ready, and the spacebridge was opened.

* * *

The only frustration he had with this all was his mom's extra guests.

Really, it was bad enough that the insecticons had decided to invite themselves into the Darby neighborhood. Now they were inviting themselves to everything else?

Jack had no idea where his mom's patience with them all came from. He just hoped they never decided to start playing bodyguard to him too. That'd be a real good way to kill the chance of any dates.

"You boys really don't need to stick around me," his mom had tried to get them to stay behind or at least mingle once they did arrive on Cybertron.

The insecticons didn't budge. She'd sighed and didn't do anything else. If it had been Jack, he would have been highly frustrated to have his 'suggestion' smothered like that.

Complaints about the quartet disappeared once the bridge had actually opened and let them all through. He was too excited to see Arcee and Smokey and the rest to really worry about them anymore.

And there was someone else to meet.

They'd been called and told about the situation on Cybertron. It had been startling, but Jack wasn't sure it had sunk in all the way. Neither had the empty base in general or their new volunteer jobs as 'junior consultants'.

On the bright side, Ratchet had called earlier to ask Fowler about the enlistment of 'rusty old autobot medics', which was apparently his way of asking to return to the base and help on the human side of things. That likely meant more communication guarantees between the team and Earth and opened the possibility of common visits. Jack rather liked the sound of that.

First things first though. He had a newbie to meet for the second time. Their first conversation had been rather short, after all.

* * *

The humans were in his retained memories. What they did, who they were, what they'd meant to Optimus- Orion could see all of it.

He was excited to meet them. A little sad as well, since they seemed like they would be disappointed to lose Optimus's less passionate yet very stable presence, but excited nonetheless.

When the group had exited and been surrounded by their eager cybertronian partners, Orion had held back. He waited for his chance to introduce himself and was not disappointed. Arcee saw him looking from where he'd held back with Ultra Magnus and waved him over.

The rest fell silent when he approached.

"My name is Orion Pax," he greeted steadily. "It's an honor to meet you all."

They spent a breem or so all talking, asking questions, and even giving him reassurances that he would be liked just as much as Optimus had been.

Orion determined that he would be happy to befriend them all.

* * *

Arcee had waited for both Darby's to don their clunky envirosuits and then took them both for a drive over Cybertron's countryside. When they'd paused for a break a good click away, she'd smiled at the humans resting against her shins.

"This is how I wanted to show it to you," the two-wheeler told her junior partner.

This- full of life and wild beauty, even as it still was covered in unconstructed rubble.

June had taken in the sights. It was both unbelievable and terrifying to be on another planet; she'd never been one to fantasize about visiting other worlds and, quite frankly, heights scared her too much for space flight to ever appeal to her.

It was incredible as well.

"It's amazing, Arcee," she'd said.

Arcee felt the compliment sink all the way in.

"Yeah," Jack grinned. "10 out of 10, best campground I've ever gone to. We should bring a tent over and stay here."

She'd cracked the side of her mouth into a grin of its own.

"You sure you brought your bug spray, partner?"

* * *

Miko had taken a liking to the two.

Bulkhead wasn't entirely sure he supported that fact. At the same time, he wasn't exactly surprised she liked them. They were both heavy duty, loud, and as willing to get into trouble as Wheeljack was.

She had wordlessly recruited Smokescreen in her mission to get near the 'metal dragons'. The rookie was completely on board with the plan. It didn't really surprise Bulkhead.

"Uh, Miko?" Bulkhead felt the need to protest.

The human made a very loud shushing noise at him from where she was standing on his shoulder. Her attention never left the trio she had assigned to carry out her "evil plan".

The two predacons and Smokescreen crept near Wheeljack and prepared the prank of their (and by that, it meant Miko's) choosing. A moment later and they were sprinting for the exit. One of the clones crushed a chair in his retreat and didn't even seem to notice that chair pieces were stuck in the many spines and joints of his leg.

Miko cackled and pounded against his shoulder in her amusement.

Wheeljack held out his arms and looked down at himself. Blue fuel trickled down white plating. The arms dropped against his hips with a clang and obvious exacerbation before he made his way over to the duo.

"Hey Jackie," Bulkhead smiled completely innocently.

Wheeljack saw Miko and lifted a brow at her.

After that, the other wrecker joined their little trouble team. Bulkhead had a feeling it was mainly so he could keep an optic on their plans.

* * *

So this was a...'party'.

There had been forms of celebration in his memories, but they had typically come in the form of great hunts and the relaxation that came in their wake.

This thing Bumblebee had invited him to was an entirely new beast to conquer.

The first step was the same as it would be in any challenge: observation.

Since this was not a concrete opponent, there was no way to search for weaknesses. Instead, he looked for what routines the others seemed to uniquely utilize the most and why those routines seemed the most common. So far, he saw that many approached the dispensary, took energon, and then left that table. The rest of the mingling seemed to carry less structure to it. Still, he planned on figuring it out.

The old age was gone. Even if more predacons flourished, they would still have to deal with the sheer amount of mechs that existed now. As much as Predaking planned to continue their species and its mighty cultures, he also was attempting to learn the societal marks of the others he was sharing this world with. There seemed to be a great likelihood that this species would be the ruling one on this world. And he did find these mech fascinating. Megatron and the decepticons had made it clear that he did not belong with them, even after he took on a form like theirs and spoke with the language they were limited to. He would like to find a way to spite that belief of theirs.

So he would need to learn how these boring, non-hunt related celebrations operated.

He'd been saying that to himself for a while now. Perhaps it was time for him to admit that he was overwhelmed by the number of fields in this room with their different complexities and emotions oozing from them. But that would be to admit defeat. He, of course, refused.

"You're analyzing this far too much," a voice said at his left. Predaking shook from the overwhelming fields he had been observing and looked at the newcomer. Ah. The Prime. Or the not-Prime, as it was.

"What else am I to do?" he replied calmly. "This is not my typical battlefield."

The other smiled at him.

"Is everything a battlefield to you?" Orion asked and then shook his head before a response came. "You don't have to answer that. It's just curious. I suppose I have to adjust to how predacons view the world. I have never met a predacon before you."

There was something far too open about this mech. From those conversations Predaking had engaged in with the Prime, there was an official filtering to all he said aloud. This one didn't seem as apt to do so.

Orion pointed over at where the other two clones were currently running around with the autobot Smokescreen. The autobot threw a cube of energon supplied by Darksteel at the wrecker Wheeljack and then all three sprinted into the hall cackling.

"They seem to get the spirit of it," he said.

In other words, inability to understand parties wasn't a predacon thing. It was just him.

But if the spirit of it was making a fool out of himself, Predaking could hardly bemourn his own inability to fit into the festivities here.

"If this had happened a few cycles ago, I wouldn't be in here," Orion started up after another moment. The predacon looked back at him. "Primes do not tend to party."

'Partying' did seem rather beneath a regal leader. At least the words made him feel less ashamed of how he was so out of place in this; the Prime would have been as well and everyone had still respected that mech.

"Do you want me to help show you around? Give you an explanation for the activities in here?"

Predaking considered the offer. He considered mainly just how much he stood out while he was a stiff statue at one corner of the room.

"I...would not be opposed," he admitted.

* * *

There were actually a good number of vehicons here. None seemed particularly loose or relaxed, but they were still attempting to remain in the same room as the partying forged were. There was no mingling between vehicons and autobots, but Phoenix supposed it was good enough just to see that some vehicons attended to talk to each other.

Breakdown had 'officially' invited him to come with some excuse that all four medical officers should go. He did not like the idea. It sounded crowded and noisy and just unnatural altogether.

There was very little to discourage that impression once he had gone. While the autobot medic kept his distance, in the least, the other autobot he desired to see the least did not. The wrecker had tried to speak with him at the dispensary table about something as inane as which additive flavors were the best. Phoenix hadn't been sure how to respond to those questions. Fortunately, the autobot seemed happy to do most of the talking himself.

Unfortunately, they still ended up _talking_.

"You ever think of fixing that?" Bulkhead had pointed at his face and Phoenix had forced his frame to not backstep away from the gesture.

When he hadn't responded within the socially expected timeframe, the wrecker had acted very apologetic about it all.

"Sorry, sorry. It's just- Ratch did that, right?"

Had this one been among those who had run over and stopped the medic from decapitating him? Maybe he had. Phoenix did not truly remember the details of who had been there. He'd been rather caught up in the thought-stalling pain on his face, after all.

"That's why you did- you know. What you did back at the mine. Right? Look, I'm not holding a grudge about it," the wrecker tried to sound casual.

Phoenix had tried to be just as casual in leaving the tableside.

* * *

Somewhere along the night, Smokescreen had eloped with the two smaller clones and was no doubt goofing off with them outside of the ship. The wrecker trio stuck around each other for longer than those two had, even if Wheeljack was ansty (that was, after all, rather typical for him).

They devolved into just making commentary on the others and trying to get the human teen's opinion on certain recent events.

"Isn't that the guy who scrapped your face?" Miko pointed at a vehicon who was slipping out of the rec room. "Ratchet wouldn't let me pound him when he stuck him in the base. Can we pound him now?"

Wheeljack visibly thought about it. Bulkhead shook him.

"Let's think of something else to do," he offered with a laugh.

The other two still looked tempted towards her idea. They really were typical wreckers.

* * *

It was for the sake of diplomacy.

That was the reasoning Raf came up with and the other two had been willing to follow his lead. Bumblebee was always rather excited at the prospect of helping people get along. Breakdown was just there to be with Bumblebee. And Raf? Well, he wanted to help with the boredom of someone who didn't have anything else to do, but he also wanted a chance to put his mind up against another's. Even if he'd probably get beat pretty fast.

"Alright," the tween whispered to the other two once he'd finished peeking into the medbay. "So he's in there and not doing anything. We can pitch the idea to him, right?"

Bumblebee nodded.

"I think it's worth a try," he reassured earnestly. It made the boy straighten his glasses and look away in light embarrassment. Bumblebee was always so nice.

"You'll both be on my team, if he says yes," Raf explained. "It's a two person game but...it's Soundwave. I think I'm allowed to have backup."

It would've been fair, if either of them could really give him help in winning it.

"I'm not going to be much help," Breakdown said to the other two. Bumblebee glanced down at Raf and then shrugged at him.

"Honestly, I probably won't be either," the other mech laughed. "There's a reason we stick to racing games. He creams me."

"You're my moral support team then-" the human grinned.

That sounded more likely.

After that, the trio went in. Bumblebee set Raf down on the main berth in the room. The occupant didn't move from the berth against the wall that he sat on.

"H-hey Soundwave," the boy greeted. "We were wondering if you wanted to play a game?"

There was no verbal reply, but at the least the other was looking at them blankly. Raf gestured at Bumblebee and the mech supplied him with the jumbo box he'd brought from Earth. While he tried to set it up, he began to talk about the game.

"It's called go," Raf started to explain nervously. "It's a strategy game, so I thought maybe you'd enjoy it? I-I've got the rules with me now, so I can explain it to you i-if you want to play."

Soundwave's visor lit up and flashed through dozens of images. Rule book pages, strategy guides, walkthroughs-

Raf gulped.

"We're gonna get creamed, aren't we?" he said.

Soundwave nodded once, for their sake.

* * *

A half a breem later, Knock Out broke away from a very intense interrogation on his abilities to manage a medbay (courtesy of Ratchet) and wandered out of the main rec room in search for his partner. He was only slightly insulted that Breakdown had decided to ditch him; there was nothing exciting about sticking around while Ratchet was being weird. If anything, he just wished his partner had managed to snag him when he left.

The others had given him a heads up on where they'd last seen Breakdown disappearing to. It seemed that he'd been convinced by Bumblebee to leave the main party and go to the medbay. Why? Who knew. There really weren't that many things of excitement in the medbay. Nothing age appropriate for young optics to see, at least. So there really was no-

...he'd forgotten the one other little detail about the medbay.

Knock Out pulled up short in the doorway, took one look at the proximity of his partner and a certain Soundwave, and screeched.

* * *

The wrecker had been right about the energon additives. They were amazing. He'd never tried any before. It wasn't like the decepticon army had bothered to give its disposable drones something as extra and rare as additives.

He couldn't find a favorite out of those he sampled. Maybe in a few more tries, some sort of opinion could form. For now, all he knew was that they all added something to fuel he had never experienced before.

Phoenix had snagged a cube and pushed as many of the flavorings as he could into it as he could before someone noticed. Then, he took his prize and left the room. Others had come and gone already and it didn't seem that they had drawn attention for doing it. No one bothered him either.

Once in the halls, he sent a comm to XL-3T09. The two met near the barracks and then Phoenix guided them semi-cautiously to another hall. The door they beelined for opened after the first set of knocks.

Dreadwing had not left this room much. He was no longer confined to a brig- not since the first decepticon commander had returned and struck an official truce with the autobots rather than a surrender- but he did not seem comfortable mingling in a ship of loud autobots and quiet vehicons. It was rather understandable, really.

Phoenix presented his prize for the other two.

"I brought them from the party," he explained as he held the cube out.

They were invited in cordially a moment later.

While the autobots had their loud party and the vehicons spent time enjoying the safety of a peacetime warship, they sat together in Dreadwing's room. The lights were dimmer than those of the rec room, but brighter than they had been that one other time Phoenix had entered it. The vials of innermost energon from the memorial ritual were sitting on the shelf above a desk lined with organized weapons. The room managed to be clinically sparse while holding antique items of mystery. It was far more inviting than a brig. It was far more inviting than Phoenix remembered it being from his first time here.

They added the flavors he'd brought to what energon cubes were inside the cabinet of this room. Conversation was slow coming but still preferable to the activity of the autobot party. And there were no tiny organics at risk of being hurt here, so no one had to watch where they sat.

The seeker offered a small portion of one of his Polihexian-cured high grades. They were stored in fascinating metal spheres and Phoenix had almost been tempted to try some. The additives he'd tasted tonight were wonderful- surely high grade would be as well?

He also knew the basic makeup of being overcharged and determined he wouldn't feel safe being so. XL-3T09 had no such qualms and took the blue mech up on the offer. While Dreadwing intook a tiny cubes worth and hardly seemed to have changed at all after its intake, the vehicon lost what caution he had left around the forged. And most of his remaining filters as well. Phoenix found himself very glad he had not tasted the high grade after all.

At one point, XL-3T09 had attempted to mimic Starscream's victory dance again and had been pleaded by Dreadwing to cease.

"You must stop. It resembles a dying turbofox," he had said as flatly as ever.

Not long after, both vehicons were being taught a dance dating back to the Age of Wrath. It was, as XL-3T09 complained, incredibly slow moving; which fit its teacher, unsurprisingly.

The night passed contentedly enough. Energon was taken, more culture of ancient days was shown, and the noise of the outside world never crashed into this room.

Neither Phoenix nor Dreadwing needed to speak much. XL-3T09 spoke more than enough for all three of them.

* * *

It was amusing to watch someone so much smaller (relatively) than his pal drag said pal around with a strength he probably didn't have.

He'd been in the middle of talking with Magnus (who did not seem to grasp the concept of a party was to leave business behind and have fun) when Knock Out dragged Breakdown up to both and planted himself there.

"Is something wrong?" Magnus had greeted them instantly with a frown. It almost seemed like the guy felt assured that something was going to explode in their face during this little celebration and now here was his first sign of evidence.

"I found him, and Bumblebee and his human, in the medbay!" the medic said with far more enthusiasm than a sentence like that really warranted. "In the medbay-" the mech said again when no one reacted in scandalized horror at his first proclamation. "Playing games with Soundwave."

Alright? Yes, it was a little surprising since the decepticon hardly seemed like the type to participate in games or fun in general, but it wasn't exactly news that some sort of horrifying ritual had been occurring in there.

"Knock Out, will you drop it?" Breakdown pried the other's hand off his arm and then slumped his head backwards when it was immediately replaced.

"They were fraternizing with Soundwave!" Knock Out repeated to Magnus like it was some sort of sin. Maybe in decepticon culture it was. Honestly, Fowler couldn't be surprised by anything anymore.

Magnus gave out a textbook sigh that the agent was almost certain came from human influence. Looked like even the big stickler wasn't immune to humanity's contagious charms.

"As much as I want to side with you on this," the commander nodded at the flashy red mech, who beamed under it. "-Soundwave accepted the order to cease combat. We are not required under law-" his normally stiff voice sounded a tad strained "-to keep contact at a minimum."

Knock Out hardly looked satisfied. While he started some sort of protest on why this guy in specific (something about sticking his arm through someone's face; whatever the details, it sounded highly unpleasant) should be an exception, Breakdown groaned.

"He's fine, isn't he?" Fowler interrupted. "No one got any arms stuck through their face, did they?"

The medic fluttered his mouth in wordless protest. Breakdown looked ready to thank the human (which sounded very awkward and thus was something to be avoided).

"Right?" the human crossed his arms and looked up at the blue mech. "How are you doing? Alive?"

For a second, a smirk had started to roll- then Breakdown froze up. The smirk fell into a confused frown; the mech crouched to get nearer to Fowler and narrowed his optics at him.

"Wait a minute..." Breakdown started slowly. "I _knew_ I'd heard you before."

Fowler smiled nervously and decided that now was a great time to find a new table to crawl onto.

* * *

It had been such a wonderful night.

But even wonderful nights came to an end. Orion had enjoyed his time mingling with others. He had spoken with the humans, talked with Predaking until Bumblebee had relieved him, and watched some of the others shove the tables aside to try to dance to Miko's strange human music that she played on a fascinating little instrument.

Eventually, it seemed that the humans had grown ready to recharge. The amount of their alien 'yawns' grew until June suggested they all head back. That was when Ratchet had explained that he wanted to go with them.

Orion had snagged the other and led him to the hall to talk privately.

"We discussed this already," the smaller mech protested. "That's where I'm needed."

They had discussed this, when he was still Optimus. And he had asked then for the other to wait longer.

"I can't stay here." Ratchet added. "Please understand. I _can't_."

It felt like a personal offense of his was driving the other away. He did not know what it was and it hurt him.

"Ratchet..." Orion started softly. The medic grimaced and tilted his head away.

"I care about you," he said. "I always have and always will. But I've spent millennias at Optimus's side."

His words cut off for a moment. It made Orion's spark pang.

"I loved him," Ratchet stated only what both of them already knew. "I can't just stay here now while he's gone. I can't just see his body and know that he's not the one inside it."

They both grimaced then. For as much as Orion retained every memory and experience of Optimus Prime, their beings were not identical.

Even with those memories in his cortex, Orion felt as though he had only just come out of the holy place where he had found the Matrix. He'd left that room and found himself in a world millions of stellar cycles older than him; he was surrounded by friends who had aged nine million stellar cycles without him.

"And this world isn't for me," the medic began anew with a hollow bark of laughter. "There are cons everywhere and-" he lifted a servo in preemptive interrupt. "-I know, I know; there's a reason they are. I get it. But this isn't where I'm needed."

Orion wanted to argue that Earth wasn't where Ratchet was needed either.

There were only a few of those he remembered: Jazz may live yet, but his status was one of prolonged communication silence. The feisty little two-wheeler from the archives was one of his trusted soldiers now. Ratchet had remained at his- at Optimus's- side for all the vorns since they had first met.

Springer was among the offlined. Wingblade had been MIA for over three million stellar cycles. Prowl was gone. Alpha Trion was dead.

And on and on and _on_.

It would have meant everything to keep just one of those old friends who lived on at his side.

Even with that wish, Orion knew the volatile nature of time and bonds.

He took Ratchet's shoulders and embraced him; it did not feel correct with all the height and mass he now had over the friend he used to match in size.

Things had morphed.

It was evolution- transformation- that remained irreversible so long as time was set as a linear constant.

Orion felt the incorrect embrace and accepted the farewell it represented.

* * *

It was during cleanup that he noticed Wheeljack fidgeting. The wrecker ended up slipping from the room in a manner his old partner found very suspicious. Bulkhead trailed him all the way to the groundbridge control room before he interrupted the attempts to fiddle with those controls.

"You going somewhere?" the green mech tried to laugh. Wheeljack spun around.

"What?" the other said. "No, 'course not. Just...Earth. Gotta get something back."

Sure he did.

This was a song and dance they'd done before.

"Jackie..." Bulkhead grabbed his arm. The smaller wrecker looked at his servo and then up at his optics with an expression unimpressed.

"Are you really going so soon?" he elaborated and felt proud that his voice managed to stay steady. "We just got this place back!"

He'd just got the other back.

Wheeljack smiled at him. It didn't meet his optics.

"I'm not goin' anywhere permanently," he reassured flatly. "I have to retrieve the _Jackhammer_, don' I?"

If it wasn't for the long list of abandonment, Bulkhead might have believed that was it.

"Yeah," the green wrecker smiled back. "Don't take long with such a fast task."

The other saluted lazily.

"Will do, Bulk," he said and strolled back to the controls.

Bulkhead watched him go while his own smile turned melancholy. He really had hoped Wheeljack would stay this time.

* * *

He'd been organizing his medbay for the third time since the humans had all left when the groundbridge activated. Ratchet dropped a wrench and shot up, knocking his head against the open drawer above him, and beginning a very colorful string of curses. When the momentary pain faded just enough, he disentangled himself from his desk and stomped out into the main room to find the culprit.

Said culprit was casually approaching.

"Wheeljack!" Ratchet snapped. His head was still aching. "What are you doing here? Get back to Cybertron!"

The other scoffed.

"Just gettin' my ship back, doc," Wheeljack waved him off. "Don' get all in my face 'bout it."

This time, he was the one who scoffed and muttered something unflattering about wreckers while he returned to the medbay.

It didn't take long for him to notice that he was being watched. Instead of going outside the base to retrieve the Jackhammer, Wheeljack had leaned against the entrance and watched him picking up all those tools that had fallen out of the drawer his head had hit.

The medic ceased what he was doing to turn and glare at him.

"You're not just here to get your ship," Ratchet said flatly.

The wrecker gave him a roll of the shoulders.

"'spose not," he replied. "Maybe I'm here to bother you."

That hardly seemed unlikely.

"Then you're already succeeding," the medic quipped back.

Wheeljack's scarred lips peeled back wider.

"Sorry to disappoint, then. That's not entirely it either."

Lovely. Perhaps it was another conversation like those they'd had after retrieving June Darby from Airachnid.

"Hurry it up," Ratchet waved the tool at him. "Out with it before I have to kick you out of my workspace."

The other glanced at the offending tool and then looked back to him.

"I was hopin' to convince you to leave it too," Wheeljack said while he jerked his head towards the hallway meaningfully.

Ratchet glared at him. After a moment of that, the wrecker tried to laugh.

"Come'n. Don' you wan' to prove your metal outside of war and doctorin'?"

Hilarious.

And the worst idea he'd heard this orn. And _this_ was the orn in which Optimus decided reverting to Orion Pax and instating _Megatron_ into the government was a good idea.

He had lost loved ones before. He'd met those he considered bonds with and then let them drift away. Now, he had lost one who mattered more than any other mech at current.

Now was not the time to be filling a void with substitutes and choosing quick thrill over bitter disappointment.

Then what time was it?

Should he just sit here and rust while he mourned missed opportunities?

Wheeljack put a servo out into the air.

"You up for it?" the wrecker asked.

They both knew that answer.

They also knew how slowly it would come.

Ratchet looked at the offered servo.

"...I'm going to regret this," he finally said as if in explanation for his own hesitance.

The other didn't even manage to summon his trademark smirk.

"How 'bout you share that regret for once."

As poor an idea as it was, Ratchet took the offer.


	105. The Young (That Never Were)

Rebuilding was going well. There were a pretty shocking amount of newsparks from the first expulsion from the Well; a good many helped with the rebuilding efforts and the rest were alright with watching. A few ships had come down to land after some new transmissions were sent out. Most of those weren't exactly believing of the messages they'd received, but accepted they were true after landing.

Things were expected to get crazier when more ships headed back and more newsparks came out of the Well, but for now adjustments were going decently smooth.

Breakdown got used to passing by newsparks in the halls of the _Nemesis_ or on the scrappy streets outside. They sometimes wanted to ask unfiltered questions about his size and how they could 'get that big', but never seemed to side-eye him in distrust. Newsparks were, frankly, way too trusting. He didn't remember being that trusting when he was young. Then again, he'd followed the words of his hero into Shockwave's lab and never let himself question whether he _wanted_ to commit to a combiner team. He'd been dense- just in a different way than these kids. They didn't understand the war. They hadn't lived in any portion of it.

The newcomers from ships were a different story. They'd side-eye him all they wanted. Most of the autobots seemed to be looking for some sort of badge. He'd always give them a smile that would make them nervously back off. Stupid bots. The cons recognized him and seemed far too eager to fight over his status as a neutral. Stupid cons. All things considered, Knock Out really had done him a favor: he'd gotten them both out of a faction and then left Breakdown to chose one (now that he'd been experienced with the war and life in general, unlike his inexperienced decision to join the decepticons at the start of the war when all he knew was rage and how appealing the words of Megatron were). He'd decided to go for neither, at least until he figured out if he wanted to identify with the bots like his partner had. And sitting in the middle really had ended up being the best loyalty for him to chose.

So when autobots or decepticons looked for a brand, they saw none and he had no qualms with that.

Despite the fact that only a few buildings had been built and the streets were still scrappy and the fledgling little city they'd been working on creating around the landing pad was tiny, Cybertron still felt pretty crowded. Sometimes, it seemed larger and more populated than it was. Breakdown figured that was a consequence of the weird feelings being on any sort of working street between functioning buildings brought: it was an illusion of finality and conclusion, like the planet was already all fixed and they were living in some surreal post-war world of peace.

Every once in a while, he left his shift on the _Nemesis_ (where he'd picked up a small following of potential nurses-to-be who wanted to learn the trade from the only nurse currently on Cybertron) and would go driving around outside. There were a few almost complete places that he liked to go to. He'd visit a few makeshift benches and sit there and watch the surreal world before him.

Sometimes, he wasn't there alone. He and Knock Out would sit together while a few other bots goofed off in their proximity. Two gray bots would be acting weirdly, though not dangerously, while a third would just lounge near them lazily.

The first gray mech sped around, ignoring their calls for him to slow down or be quieter. At least they knew his lack of reaction was likely purposeful rather than his own inability to hear and comprehend their requests; the doctors had been able to help the young mech gain some semblance of sanity and functioning. They were worth the money his new stand-in carriers put in for him.

The other gray bot was slouched where he sat, barely paying attention to any conversation. His focus was on the game unit in his hand- and, although he was too brusque and embarrassed to admit it, on the usernames of certain friendly players he'd been growing fond of. It was easier for him to befriend these distant mechs; easier to keep from boring of them, easier to only have to talk when he felt alright, easier to keep anger tapped. Really, those around him just cared that he was getting friends at all.

The final mech was sitting near Breakdown and his partner. Red plating shone luxuriously; for a mech that said he didn't care about anything, he could be found frequenting shops to try new colors and polishes a bit too often. He moved from yelling at the speedster to stop spinning circles around them and sulking quietly; that was alright. As short tempered as he seemed, Breakdown felt like he'd be smiling if he had a face; smiling at the messages he'd receive across the net from those he couldn't deny mattered to him.

And sometimes he'd speak to Breakdown. Sometimes he'd share some new fact on cosmetics with Knock Out. Sometimes the gray mech slouching nearby would yell out whatever new accomplishment he'd made. Sometimes the speeding idiot would fold upwards in jarring quickness to share some joke he'd only just then thought of.

And sometimes?

Well, he'd never done it much before. Too many bitter memories, too much hatred and betrayal.

But the time with the autobots had changed that bit. This memorial Bumblebee had wanted constructed seemed only to be proof of that, hitting Breakdown with unhappy thoughts and longings.

So it was a recent development. Maybe around the time he'd first started talking with Ratchet. Maybe when he heard Orion Pax discuss the Starscream he remembered from before the war during a refueling one time.

Whatever the case, it did happen now.

Sometimes, unexpectedly, some new yell of a rookie or sight of a youngling sent Breakdown into a scene that never happened. A scene the war prevented from ever occurring.

_'Sometimes'_? More like _too many _times.

* * *

They were still camping in the _Nemesis_ for now. Since the vehicon he was training had stolen the medbay berthroom, the two of them had moved into Breakdown's old quarters. Knock Out would complain that Earth was preferable to this, which was a bit of a lie to both of them. Earth was not entirely comfortable and Knock Out liked comfort. But Earth also had a personality to it that made their stay nostalgic. This room on the _Nemesis_ didn't really have any nostalgia tied to it to give it charm.

But the cities being built all over the world were hardly anywhere near finished. This was far more comfortable than trying to set up in some sparse, half-built skyscraper or rickety dome.

Besides, the room on Earth had been cluttered, cramped, and he remembered his _incident_ there. Sure, he'd been low on recharge and his processor had been overstressed, but it still hadn't been pleasant for his head to convince itself it saw one of the Stunticons in there.

Heh. Was that the first time things really built up enough for him to stress over that? It had been a bit of a starting point then. Sure, good scrap had come out of it. He'd decided to accept the reasons for change that others had pointed out there being in regards to his dynamic with his partner. He'd gotten the thoughts he needed to go set up some sort of closure with Bulkhead.

But he'd also changed his perceptions on the Stunticons while he was at it and now they bothered him at random times.

"Hey."

The doctor on the berth glanced up at his word.

"I saw some kids running around graffitiing the entrance to the new hospital," he said.

That earned a _look _from the other.

"Oh, did you?" Knock Out purred. Honestly, Breakdown wasn't sure if he was seething at the nerve (it was _his _hospital, for now, that they were messing with) or amused at the vandalism (there was always something about chaotic troublemaking that tended to appeal to the mech).

"Did you scare them off or let them deface our new workspace?"

Breakdown smirked.

"I thought about it," he answered with casual slowness. "But I left them alone."

Judging by the way his partner was shaking his head with a smirk of his own, the story amused him.

"You know, I used to do that," Breakdown started up again after sitting down at Knock Out's side.

"Hm?" the other mech acknowledged. "Do what?"

They'd known each other for so long and never really bothered to talk about what and who they had been before they'd met. It was an illusion; they existed only after running across each other. Or perhaps it was only an illusion on his part. Knock Out just didn't like to speak about the past.

"Vandalize," he shrugged. "That was pretty light for me really."

It was mostly arson with an end goal of leveling a place, after all. That worked to his point far better than drawing things on walls or windows. It didn't run the risk of being spotted as highly either.

That was his history. Nothing fancy, nothing nice. The same could be said of the other three Stunticons. Somehow, he was pretty sure it hadn't for Knock Out. Most of the stories he _did_ tell over the vorns ended up contradicting each other or known facts, so Breakdown didn't really think any of them were accurate- but they still painted a picture of glory and loyal fans earned through being in a spotlight rather than crime in the shadows.

It had been one of the appeals when they'd just started working together. This was a mech who _didn't _come from a background like he had. It was something completely unique in that unit.

"I bet you did a far better job than whatever newsparks were out there today," Knock Out said with a pat. It was inane enough to be funny. No doubt the other knew it: they were familiar enough with each other to know how to make the other laugh.

"Not as good as the stuff-"

He almost said it. _...-that Wildrider probably made before _it _happened. _ The thought had come, he'd been ready to say it aloud, and he'd stopped. He couldn't do it. They didn't talk about that team. It still felt ungrateful to even be thinking about them after everything Knock Out had done to wipe them out of their lives. That had been a favor to him. Why did he have to bring it all up after that favor wiped it away? Because it only hid the slaggers; it wasn't him making peace with everything they hadn't gotten the chance to be, it was him hiding from the confusion that brought on.

Breakdown sighed.

"I've been caught up in something," he started after the pause on his part. "Just at random moments, not all the time, but. But I keep getting little reminders about _them._"

Knock Out was quiet. No scathing remark came about the old team. No remark of the like that would make him feel that he shouldn't have ever thought those thoughts in the first place. Not that he could help it. Who could help what they felt?

"I'm not really sure what to do with them. I think I've made peace, but I'm tired of thinking about all things they could've been if the world had been different for us all."

Still no tease or reassurement or offense.

"Are you listening?" Breakdown changed course suddenly.

The other snapped his head up to face his.

"I was," Knock Out promised. "I was."

That felt so much better than not knowing at all. Maybe it used to feel more comfortable to take it for granted; maybe it used to feel safer to never ask if he was being ignored and just believe that he wasn't. But that was kind of a hollow sentiment. Making assumptions that he was being listened to may be safe and comfortable, but it never let his head really catch on to the fact that he was. Confirmation changed that. Confirmation let him know.

Knock Out had always been way too good for the Stunticons. He'd shown up all dazzling and intelligent and witty and everything they weren't. He'd taken on one idiot and made him feel special too. Made him feel capable and appealing and strong, all through the confidence the other showed in his own efforts to improve the blue mech.

Even if he touted his own faults these days, he was still amazing. And being listened to- heard- by someone as amazing as that?

Frag comfort and playing it safe by assuming. Confirmation ran the risk of finding out he _wasn't_ being listened to, but it also offered so much more reassurement than assuming cautiously did.

* * *

Breakdown took a drive out to a single park among those that had finished being built. The city was looking a bit more like somewhere to live in rather than a heap of scrap, but this spot looked even more complete than many of the others. He'd watched it change. First, it had just been a flat piece of land that two mechs had decided to sit a memorial on. Then, the buildings around it started being important enough to repair. The ground was cleared of left over rubble and benches were set up nearby. It wasn't the most well known of the memorial parks that had sprung up at the end of the war, but it was visited enough. He was one of those visitors. Breakdown transformed when he entered the square and walked up to the wall.

The concept behind this one stuck with him more than most of the statues or fancy monuments. This one was deceptively simple. There was a large engraving and then the remainder of the stone was free to cover in names memorialized by those who walked by.

Bumblebee had come up with the idea with the lead predacon, actually. Apparently, they talked enough to each other about their own respective ages to come up with a decision to honor that subject. Since Predaking didn't know anyone from the start of the war, he had left no names on the memorial. He and the autobot had come up with the statement engraved at its center while the rest of the autobots left names scratched on. Smokescreen and Bumblebee knew the most. It seemed the others either didn't know how young their comrades potentially were or hadn't personally known many of the younglings-turned-soldiers in their unit. It seemed that the two youngest autobots knew enough; probably old friends of theirs, pals that had enlisted together. Most of which never made it out. None of which made it out with stable, healthy development.

Anyone was free to add to the memorial. Neutrals, bots, cons. Breakdown had watched some passerbyers scrape new designations on the large monument during his own times here.

He'd never put any on during those visits. Just stood and watched the others passing by. Just read the declaration and let it drive him nearly crazy.

_The war damaged the young the most when did not allow their youth to belong to them _

Who came up with stuff like that?

...it was right, though. He just wasn't one who liked to admit to that kinda thing. Besides, it wasn't just the war that did that. The Golden Age hadn't exactly let every youngling be a youngling. From what he'd heard about the Age of Wrath, it was happening then too.

It'd never been something to occur to him back then though. He'd never gotten that chance to be young, he supposed. It hadn't bothered him until he actually paid attention to what he'd never had. The newsparks were all younglings. Fully forged frames, sure. But mentally? They were called 'newsparks' for a reason.

They ran around and played games and acted like idiots. They learned what was acceptable and what wasn't by trial and error. They grew as the world around them helped give them this chance to.

It was more than he'd gotten.

It was more than any of them had.

And it bothered him. He could hate who they'd all turned into, but that didn't mean they were destined to have become those afts. Maybe if they'd all been sparked in this world, they could've turned out differently. Maybe they wouldn't have treated him like something to break. Maybe they could've been happy.

It didn't seem fair that he got to be when the others had hit the end of their roads. But it'd been too late for most of them, hadn't it? And that was what really stung.

The war, the boss, the stupid streets they'd been trapped on before it all started: they'd never gotten the chance to mentally reach maturity, but they'd all been forced into an adult role regardless.

Frag it all. No wonder they were ghosting him. Demanding he pay attention, demanding he think- the old blind hate was gone, but now what? There had to be closure at some point. He couldn't just be stuck mourning something that had been out of his control.

That's what this entire memorial was for though, wasn't it?

Bumblebee hadn't gotten his chance either. He'd still survived the war and grown and managed to kill the guy who officially started it all. Predaking had come out of his growth tube at only a cycle old and then was thrown into situations that had ruined any chance for normal development for him either. The rest of the designations were written by those who had lost someone, or more than one someones, young that they cared for in one way or another. All of them had their issues irreversible, but none of them could sit in front of a memorial all day grumbling about that.

Breakdown leaned down to scratch a few more designation on the shiny wall.

When he walked away, the stone had scrawled in tiny glyphs_ Dead End, Wildrider, Heatseeker _among the younglings Bumblebee and Smokescreen and the rest had remembered.

The memory of the Stunticons remained with the memorial, no longer following their surviving member wherever he went.


	106. Epilogue- Colony Brat(s)

A human year passed and it was time for a break. Preferably a change of pace altogether.

Cybertron was still alive. The government wasn't hostile towards any specific groups of people. It was a pretty awkward government to witness, but it hadn't imploded or exploded or any of the like. Even Vos, the weird little independent country surrounded by official cybertronian cities that it was, had done alright. There'd been about four big assassination attempts, but honestly Knock Out stopped paying attention to them after confirming that Orion had survived. It would have really been slag to have his hero (or a version of him) die on him (again).

The planet wasn't covered in cities yet. It had only been a year, after all. The area around the Well had been constructed pretty well and served as the biggest capital built so far. Vos had hired (presumably, with very little pay) workers to rebuild in there while the Well city was still being worked on, so it had become semi-presentable as an urban paradise about the time the capital had. The rest were still in early construction phases. Bulkhead's line of work had done very well. It had probably been busier and hired more than any others. A shame, really. Cybertron could use more cosmetic stylists.

There were enough shiploads of cybertronians to return that he'd lost count of them too. They were hardly news anymore. With each new ship came new adults who, unlike the newsparks, already had life experience and jobs and opinions and whatnot. Among them came- inevitably- more medics.

Breakdown had tutored the vehicon medic replacement in medical assisting and ended up with a few other recruits for those lessons. Ships returned with their own doctors and their crews only wanted to be touched by those they knew well. The 'one hospital on Cybertron' status changed to 'multiple hospitals at different vital locations'- and more would be coming as these cities expanded further. There was no one official CMO anymore. Not when there were so many medbays. There was no rule or need saying they had to stick around to keep all these individual hospitals in order.

All in all, things felt rather wrapped up. Breakdown felt that his little crew of discount nurses were ready to be thrown into the world and then had done just that. He was currently retired from that teaching position. Knock Out had slipped out of the medical spotlight the minute a second hospital had been built and now was very firmly out of it. The rest of Team Prime had survived the war and were faring nicely. Orion was a very popular leader and had even gotten the pleasant surprise of being reunited with some old friends of his who had survived the war. Even as busy as he was, he still found time to meet with all the others on a regular basis. A few orns after this started, Breakdown mentioned that he rather liked Orion. Knock Out painfully agreed to disagree on the matter (even if he did like Pax, there was no topping Optimus Prime). Subjective tastes were supposed to be subjective for a reason, he supposed. And he had made a choice to let others choose their own lives and likes and tastes- even if they _were _wrong (in his opinion, he tried to remind himself).

The rest of the team still met on a regular enough basis. Judging by the fact that a good amount of those reunions happened on Earth, it didn't end up affecting them all too much that Ratchet and Wheeljack were on the other planet.

Which made Knock Out think.

So think he did.

And, after a good few cycles devoted solely to thinking, he decided it was time for a trip.

* * *

Ah, Earth. Knock Out shifted his pede over the organic dirt and relished in its gritty feeling. Being on Earth always meant getting as many oil baths (or at least car washes) as possible. There was nothing clean about this planet's natural state. It was a horrible place in that regard. Oh, but it had so many open roads. The star had more heat than Cybertron's latest distant orbiter. And humans had some very, very creative inputs to the world: automobile models, films, polishes, etc.

The last time the war had ended, he'd been thrilled to be on Cybertron. There had been visits (supervised) with the autobots over to Earth, but those had dwindled away within the first year. Then banned altogether.

He was exercising a spiteful right against that stupid law of his home timeline by coming here. This time, Earth and Cybertron were official allies. This time, there was already small commerce growing between them and travel was technically unrestricted ('technically', because so far as he could tell it was very difficult to undergo on the human side of things). This time, he could come here and go back anytime he wanted.

And that freedom let him think about what it was he wanted most. Knock Out ground the dirt under his pedes, smiled at the feeling (and what freedom it represented), and looked at his partner.

"How do you feel about this place?"

Breakdown shrugged without putting much thought into it. That was fine. They both like to think through action instead of spending too much pesky time on details.

"Not bad," he answered. "Gotta lot of good memories here."

Was that so? Sounded just like him then.

"How would you feel..." Knock Out drew the second question out with faux uncaring. "...about leaving Cybertron?"

One brow shot up while Breakdown's expression constricted. Always so expressive in thought, wasn't he.

"To come here?" he asked. "For good?"

Maybe. Maybe not. What was so bad about that thought anyway?

"For a while," the medic said. "Just to get away from the craziness over there. It's not like we'd be locked here. The autobots are always visiting this place and Ratchet and Wheeljack haven't left for more than a few days in space at a time before the kids have called them back."

Nothing permanent, no commitments. Even if they'd need to build some sort of base with comforts for their stay, which did imply commitments. No reason to think too hard on that.

"Sure," Breakdown shrugged again. "There were too many newsparks over there anyway."

Knock Out smiled widely.

"Wonderful!" The dirt underpede was ground again for good measure before he looked at his partner's imperfectly colored optics. "I always was more of a colony mech myself. The homeworld isn't quite the place for me."

Breakdown looked out past him to stare at the Earth desert.

"I can't say I had that many fond memories of living there myself," he replied before smiling back at the smaller mech. "So I think you meant 'for _us'_."

* * *

Without the rest of the team, Autobot Outpost Omega One had gotten rather empty. The _Jackhammer _was parked outside of it on a regular basis. Sometimes it was an empty spot; sometimes, its pilot had dragged the base medic out to explore some nearby system or something in Earth's own. The rest of the time, it was a permanent parking lot for a single ship.

The spacebridge within the base was lit up on a regular basis. It had been for the last stellar cycle and it seemed pretty likely it'd stay that way.

Out of the whole team, Orion was the one who seemed least likely to visit. He was the busiest out of all of them. That didn't stop the leader from coming to spend time with the permanent cybertronian consultant to Unit:E. Knock Out wasn't sure what had gone down between the two the night of that party, but it hadn't stopped either from staying in contact with each other.

Far more importantly to him, that fact meant that he was able to see the former Prime too. He'd been worried that moving to Earth would mean leaving behind chances to socialize. It hadn't. Everyone came by. They didn't even have to go visit Cybertron regularly (even if they did) to stay in touch: the team was always dropping in on this formerly backwater planet.

Even Magnus came on occasion as well. He was almost always there to work on some fine details of interplanetary relations with Unit:E, but he could still be seen being trailing by that human they'd run into in Arizona. Judging by some of Fowler's complaints vented when they were nearby, the fleshy wasn't even supposed to be in any of these government outposts.

Fowler was a pretty busy man. That left him less free time to show up and rant, and more subjects to rant about. As entertaining as it was, it was a good reminder that they needed out of this place and to one that wouldn't allow the human to exit the lift and begin a tirade without warning. Let Magnus and Ratchet deal with all that mess.

Smokescreen was another that visited on his own. He'd pop in by himself to spend time with Knock Out or Jack Darby. Races or troublemaking were typically involved. Knock Out couldn't say those visits weren't good fun.

The original human's partners came by as much as they could (occasionally for a visit long enough that they stole one of the base rooms or else parked in front of the organic's houses), which was pretty often. He still remembered how upset they were to have that access cut off from them. He remembered their spikes in irritability or glum moods after the council had cut them off. Their trips over now were a perfect example of how much better this time was than _that_.

Arcee was on Earth on a semi permanent basis. She split time between planets at least evenly. Most of that time was spent with the Darby family, but she was still spending a good amount with him. Knock Out quite enjoyed that fact. They'd go the most exquisite car washes (he had made a rather perfected list based on his experiences when he and Breakdown had been wandering the planet), bask on sunny beaches to enjoy the glint of the star off of their newly shiny plating (and soak in the stares, because _how good it was _to finally be free to show off to all the unattractive humans here), and then go to another car wash to get the sand out from the rather uncomfortable places in cracks and under plating. Apparently, human gossip columnist and internet websites sometimes wrote theories about them both based on their outings and they always gave the medic and two-wheeler a good laugh.

The other two also came by, although they were on Cybertron far more than Arcee. Bulkhead tended to spend more time with Breakdown than he did with the duo together. Knock Out tried not to be offended by that; he reminded himself that he didn't particularly want to spend one on one time with the wrecker and that made him feel far better about the snub. Bumblebee split his time between them and with them together. It was nice, actually. On their own, they did different activities than they would have with Breakdown involved. When the other two were on their own, the same could probably be said of them. And all three together? Bumblebee was a rather sociable person. He really did know how to adapt to those he was hanging out with at the time.

The humans were around far more than any bots from Cybertron were. They were, apparently, 'consultants' here now. That mainly meant they were free to watch television and goof around in the main room with Ratchet. Sometimes June Darby came with them and she would join the two medics and the cybertronian nurse in the medbay. Did they actually talk about medicine? Not particularly often. But let the outsiders think they were while they actually gossiped about delightful, gossip-worthy happenings.

Even if they'd never quite returned to the state of ease they'd had before the incident in the tropics, Knock Out didn't particularly mind living with Wheeljack. The wrecker tended to stay busy outside during the day and preferred staying with Ratchet over attempting to steal any of the other quarters. They didn't run into each other that often around the base, but they both seemed to have silently agreed to attempt looking past that _incident_. When Wheeljack was busy with Magnus one cycle, Knock Out had dug through all of his things in Ratchet's (horrifyingly crowded and drab) quarters and the crates on the _Jackhammer _parked outside: to his satisfaction, he didn't find any opened crates of nuke or syk or the like. The sealed crate that he _did _recognize (although it had been unsealed at that time he'd seen it last) was buried discreetly behind the plateau and Knock Out congratulated himself for a job well done.

As unassuming as his roommates were here, the living arrangements still weren't ideal. It had almost felt less crowded on the _Nemesis _when there were newsparks and other busybodies running around wild. The outpost here was the conduit location for travel between worlds. As much as a separate Unit:E base had been set up for more official visits and training and other locations around the world had been created, this was still the bridge typically used to bring Team Prime over. Ratchet would hold random seminars for humans (Knock Out had walked out of the hall right into one of these seminars once and it had been embarrassing how long it had taken for him to adjust to what was in front of him) to 'do his part' as a consultant alongside the kids. The kids were loud and had little appreciation for real music or art (it did occur to him that a part of that could've been purposeful; perhaps they were trying to get him riled up by offending him).

Fowler managed to help them find a location in his jurisdiction that was relatively empty of humans. The duo was given free reign to set up something there. Once word got out, they were swarmed by help. Bulkhead organized the others and supervised construction effectively. Even Miko (in her stolen cybertronian armor, of course) managed to build more things than she broke.

Eventually, they had a nice little lodging. There was a party to 'break it in'. A few streamers were still found in random areas even a few cycles after that had ended.

The property was in the north somewhere, in pretty high (by human standards) elevation. It was dry and flat in enough places nearby to race around with enough green, wooded area around the base itself to keep the riff raff from thinking it was important. Best of all, a service road a few miles out connected them to eventual city access and that meant drive in movies and car washes and even a small racing ring. Any comforts the towns nearby didn't have, Bulkhead had made sure to include in the base floor plan.

Actually, that wasn't really the best bit. It was pretty easy to consider the best part was that it wasn't cut off. A bridge could get them back to Jasper and a second could send them over to Cybertron to catch up on what was happening over there.

It wasn't that he disliked the planet, after all. It was a delightful place. The omega lock had done wonders there. Even some of the dead colony worlds had been proposed as places to shoot the second lock at as well. Maybe someday Velocitron would be back. Until then, Earth was nice enough and the homeworld made for a good vacation location. The door was always open to change living spaces and that option was so much less constricting than those his old world had boxed people in with.

Actually, if Knock Out thought about it hard, he wasn't sure if there was anything to complain about right then. Cybertron's government was doing well enough. Its society was building nicely, if chaotically. Earth was gross in its organic-ness, but it really held more charms than flaws. Everyone that mattered seemed happy with their current work and the lives they held on either planet.

Not to brag, but he thought he'd done a pretty bang up job with making this world possible.


	107. Epilogue- Live In The Moment

What, what, what.

What had happened?

What had gone differently?

What had he done there?

It drove him mad.

Had he succeeded?

Had he kept Breakdown alive, Optimus alive, all of them safe? Had he given the other a chance to show him what sort of person he was without Knock Out?

He could think up a thousand stories of what went down. Most of them were successes, some of them were brilliant victories, and a few ended absolutely horribly.

What the likelihood of each one happening was...he didn't know. For all he knew, that splinter version of himself had gotten everyone killed. Or maybe he had won. Maybe everything happening here had been avoided there.

It was eating him alive.

* * *

_You won't get to see the world that copy makes for himself. _

Brainstorm couldn't be said to haven't had warned him. There'd been plenty that came before (although they only came on those rare occassions the scientist was sobered away from the thrill of creating his contraption) and plenty more came after. Maybe it was because, before, Brainstorm had been busy working full cycles at once on the machine. When it was done, he had none of that distraction for himself. He had only the facts and the facts were that Knock Out was not doing better after going through the experience.

The warnings moved to 'I told you so's- because of course they did; that was the type of guy he was trapped with here.

_I told you not to think about it, _being the chief of which got said to him while he moped around the base.

Eventually, Knock Out just snapped at those.

"I have nothing else to do but wonder!" the medic interrupted one of Brainstorm's comments on why he should stop. "We do nothing but sit on this stupid rock; what else am I supposed to think about? I could be out preventing this mess from getting me to the place I'm stuck at now- I'm allowed to hope that I have, aren't I?"

But it wasn't healthy to. He knew it. Brainstorm knew it. Neither were idiots, even if neither were very smart in terms of interpersonal relations.

"Aren't I?" Knock Out repeated, quieter. "It's enough to know that I possibly could've avoided some of those regrets, but I'm still going to wonder how that possibility played out."

He really did expect something from that. He expected a reaction that could help encourage him, just _something- _maybe an 'I know', a reassurement that they'd been through similar problems? it was obvious Brainstorm had some sort of regret buried in inaction sometime in the past-

but nothing like that came. He supposed neither of them were sappy enough for it. They were able to reach the halfway point, but never could tip over that into being _real,_ _caring_ people.

Brainstorm left the room. Knock Out reorganized everything in spite. They didn't run across each other for a few cycles.

Then the medic was blearily refueling in their old shared dispensary room (he hadn't forced the other to come refuel; not when they were being spiteful with each other) when the scientist had walked in. He made his way over, slammed a device down on the table besides where the exhausted mech was still trying to peel his head up, and then stood there waiting.

Fragging waiting.

Like anyone would, Knock Out rose to the bait.

"Whasat?" he mumbled.

With his mask on, it was hard to tell what flavor of expression Brainstorm was glaring down at him with. If he were to wager a guess, it was landing somewhere between wildly irritated and piqued interest at his opening for a spiel on his latest invention.

"Let me guess," Knock Out pulled his head up from the tabletop slowly. "It's a-"

His mind scrambled for some sort of, as the fleshies from Earth would've said, 'bs'.

"-quantum-"

The word was tossed around enough by the mad sciency type to feel like a safe bet.

"...energon...frier?"

For a moment, Brainstorm seemed distracted enough by his slag.

"A-hmm, would that...But no," the scientist shook his head and jabbed a finger onto the thing. "It's a communication device. It should reach just about any autobot you have the life signal recorded for and it shouldn't go over enough channels to draw attention."

Wait. Knock Out crunched his face up.

"What?" he asked.

As if talking to an idiot, Brainstorm slowed his speech down to a patronizing tone.

"It means you can get in touch with all those people you're wondering about. Well, the non-dead ones."

There was a shrug.

"I couldn't quite figure out how to include them."

A communicator. A long range, private communicator. Knock Out reached for the device and took it into his servo.

"I-...I thought you tried not to send many messages out," he said. "Besides the one alerting others to the safe zone here. What's with..."

Brainstorm was already shifting like he wanted to leave. He was probably itching to get back to his lab, hang upside down, and overall be a maniac who had no idea what 'self care' meant.

There wasn't really anything said as reassurement or an apology for being an aft recently or anything he expected from sappy autobots.

That wasn't too insulting, he supposed. It was certainly a nice thought, regardless of what words introduced it or not.

Knock Out felt the device on his palm. It was a starting point.

Maybe the consciousness-misplacer had been a starting point for some other version of Knock Out.

But it was time for this version to find his own.

* * *

He didn't get anyone to respond. It was rather disappointing. He was pretty sure it defeated a good portion of the point, but it had still been a nice thought on Brainstorm's part.

That was that, he thought at first. He'd probably keep trying but he didn't seem as likely to get a response as he'd let himself hope.

Except that _wasn't _that.

The blue ship coming down to a landing atop the asteroid was proof of it.

* * *

The other was 'busy'. Knock Out had run into his lab, slipped around the corner, and yelled at Brainstorm to get up because there was a visitor outside.

"I'm busy!" he'd yelled from...the vents?

Fine then.

"If I die, you'd better wallow in guilt for not being there!" Knock Out had yelled back and then ran to retrieve his energon prod. There were long range weapons in this base as well. Did he really trust they wouldn't explode in his face or something similarly nasty? He left with only the prod in his servos.

The ship had already parked by the time he got out. There was a large autobot symbol on one side, but that didn't necessarily mean anything reassuring. It could be the autobots sent out from Cybertron as enforcers. It could be a decepticon trap.

But the two-wheeler standing outside the ship's ramp left far less room up for interpretation.

No way.

No fragging way.

"Arcee?" he looked on disbelievingly. It just seemed unlikely. She hadn't been heard from since she'd left Cybertron that one cycle; most figured she'd gone to Earth, but the council's interplanetary communication block prevented that from ever being confirmed.

"I-" the medic's expression betrayed his own confusion, but he walked towards her anyways. "I thought you were on Earth?"

She met him when he'd almost reached the ship.

"I was," she confirmed with a little smile. "I was dragged off a while ago, before I even got your message."

But-

But-

Oh, to the Pit with it.

Knock Out laughed. It was a sound of relief and excitement and nostalgia and hope and-

"Hey-hey-wait!" the laugh broke off into a yelp when she hugged him. "Watch the finish!"

This time, it was the two-wheeler's turn to laugh.

"Shut up, you," she teased and did not, in fact, break off the embrace in order to better protect his finish.

As nice as that was, he had questions still. After a bit, he finally poked her and peeled away.

"You got my message?" he asked, before shaking his head. "Wait, more importantly: who dragged you away from Earth?"

A few explanations _would _be rather nice.

"As odd as it is, Wheeljack," Arcee answered. "Apparently, he'd been wandering around ever since leaving Cybertron-"

More than just wandering, last Knock Out had checked. It was rather relieving just to find out he wasn't dead from self-destruction one way or the other.

"-and ran into Ultra Magnus out there-"

"Ultra Magnus?" he asked. The mech shuffled above the ramp before walking down as if summoned by his question. Knock Out went to attention, just like Magnus always liked autobots to do.

The former commander paused to take him in beforing offering a nod.

"At ease, soldier."

There was nothing like the bland, boring, unimportant greeting style and dismissal of Magnus. It meant he saw a soldier and not an enemy. Red optics and claws or not, he was a teammate in Magnus's optics.

It meant far more than it really should've.

"Anyway," Arcee smirked. "They wandered a bit out there before they got a few encoded transmissions of interest."

Those wouldn't be his. He'd sent his messages out only a few cycles ago, not...well, whenever all this apparently happened.

"Knock Out." The snapping of digits in front of his face brought him back to the moment. When he looked back to show his attention was on her, Arcee continued bluntly. "Optimus is alive."

* * *

The rest of the story came out fast. While the trio aboard the_ Discount Iron Will _(a title Wheeljack had laughed at while Magnus had protested in flat frustration) hadn't talked directly to Optimus yet, the Prime had apparently been sending his top lieutenants encoded messages. They said he was alive. They said he was working on something. They said he needed help.

The council was rotten. That came to no surprise for Knock Out.

The council needed to be dealt with. Also not a surprise.

Optimus was attempting to organize a covert revolution.

Now that?

That involved apparent resurrection, for one thing, and he'd never have been able to guess it would happen.

Magnus was planning on helping. Wheeljack had a goal now and that would keep him focused until it could be met. Arcee wanted to see Optimus again and joining his resistance would let her do that.

Cybertron wasn't their destination. The planet had other large outposts used to shield the world from approach and block radio signals. They were hoping to disable one of those. Knock Out had been on the way.

Actually, he'd been a little out of the way. But Brainstorm's device had let him speak through one-sided messages to all three of these bots and Wheeljack had been the one to send this safe-zones coordinates to him in the first place.

They'd come for him.

It didn't matter if Breakdown had died or Optimus had given his life up or he'd been hostile until the very end of the war. It didn't matter what some other version of himself had managed to do or not do. His autobots in here had come for him.

They refueled the _Discount Iron Will _on the asteroid while Knock Out had toured Wheeljack and Arcee around the place he'd been stuck in for orns. The wrecker had looked suitably disturbed to see the state of the place he'd sent Knock Out to (it was an act, but it was funny and he approved of it). Arcee had smirked at the two of them bantering back and forth.

He left them in the main dispensary after showing them nearly everywhere (Brainstorm's current lab and the room with the consciousness-misplacer were those he did not take the others into) and tracked down the scientist where he was working now.

"Guess who's here?" Knock Out leaned against the wall after entering and talked on before bothering to wait for any guesses. "Some of my old team."

The details spilled out and he was rather shocked that it went without interruption until the end.

"Are you going to get down here-" he gestured at the upside-down seeker "-and come with me to meet them?"

Brainstorm continued to fiddle with the gun he was combining to another.

"Busy."

Ah, yes. 'Busy'. Knock Out frowned.

"Come on," he repeated with a bit more irritation. "Do you really want to rust on this rock or do you want a few new autobots to show your inventions off to?"

It really was a no-brainer.

As awkward as it was going to be to have to fight to out-talk this guy for even more cycles, it really was better they both leave this place behind them.

Time travel was an exciting thing and all. But wasting time wondering how regrets could be reworked and people could live that hadn't and failures could be avoided was just that: a waste.

They had a revolution to join.

A world to save (again).

A Prime to be reunited with.

He had all that.

So it shouldn't matter what he had somewhere else.


	108. Closing Author's Note

Author's Note: A few of my closing thoughts, what could have beens, thank yous, and next steps.

I wrote in chapter one that I wasn't sure this fic would end up being KOBD. Evidently, it did end up going in that direction, even if the genre tag above remains friendship rather than romance. Because of the sheer amount of characters and friendships in this fic, that seems a more fitting genre to encapsulate the fic as a whole.

Random info on chapter names- honestly, I didn't have a plan for most of the chapter names. A few (Live in the Moment, Let's Talk About Me, etc) were picked out long ahead, but most were made on a chapter by chapter basis. That said, there were a few themes. The one I feel like mentioning follows the chapter titles that follow the 'X Decepticon does Y' theme. This one is an example of my weird thought processing components. The OST of TF: Prime has an interesting naming technique. There are quite a few decepticons that have their own songs in the soundtrack (Megatron on the move, Dreadwing, Airachnid). I noticed a comment on this soundtrack theorizing that this is an example of how the autobots are unified as a team whereas the cons are all independent and their concept of a team is screwed up. The chapter titles (Airachnid Calls In A Favor, Shockwave Gets A Letter, etc) that begin with a con (or decepticon-turned-neutral) and then the rest of the sentence about them came out of this note on the unity of the bots vs independency of the cons seen in the official soundtrack.

I came up with this idea years ago, long before I began writing fanfic. I pulled it out of whatever hideyhole it's been sitting in since then in January because I wanted a prompt for an excuse to write this take on Knock Out. He presents as very appearance-centered in the show, but I wanted to experiment with the idea of him being a narcissist in more than just his care for his paintjob. I can't claim that this is accurate to NPD on a professional level, but I did comb over the DSM-5 for traits and habits and cognitive processes that are used for both him and a few other decepticons here. It was a fun experience to write for him and for every other character here. The vehicon from Stronger, Faster, Dreadwing, Bumblebee, Soundwave, all of them- I think this is a character centered story rather than a plot oriented one and so I was truly thrilled with how many of you enjoyed these character studies.

Well, this fic _does_ sit as a standalone. It was always was intended to work as a standalone. That said? I do have it as a series over on AO3 and there are multiple sequels there. Just based on the amount and as a platform, I don't think I'm going to post them here as separate fics and I'm so far not planning on posting them here at all (If I do, they'd all likely end up lumped into the same document). I'll leave that open for now though and if anyone specifically comments on wanted those posted on , I'll try. If not, I'm just letting you all know that there is more content finished and in progress over on AO3.

Thanks again for making it through both the word & chapter count of this fic and the size of this author's note. Have a great day!


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